
1922 



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pTHE WREN 

By BOOTH TARKINGTON 




FRENCH, 2M0 Wcit 38th St, New"Y«rk 



THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. 

The faniious c»medy in threo act», by Anne Warner. 7 maka, i 
females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2Ji hours. 

This 13 a gej>uinely fuaay comedy with splendid parts for "Aunt 
Mary," "Jack," her lively nephew; "Lucinda," a New England an- 
cient maid of all work; "Jack's" three chums; the Girl "Jack" loves; 
"Joshua," Aunt Mary's hired man, etc. 

"Aunt Mary" was played by May Robson in New York and on tour 
for over two years, and it is sure to be a bis success wherever pro- 
dttced. We stronsijr recommend it Price, 60 Cents. 



MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. 

A pleasinfir comedy, in three acts, by Harry James Smith, author of 
•The TailorrMade Man." 6 males, 6 feraaJes. One interior scene. 
Costumes modern. Plays 2^ hours. 

Mr. Smith chose for his Initial comedy the complications arising 
from the endeavors of a social climber to land herself in the altitude 
peopled by hyphenated names — a theme permittini; innumerable com- 
plications, according to the spirit of the writer. 

This nujst successful comedy was toured for several seasons by Mrs. 
Ftske with enormous success. Price, 60 Cents. 



MRS. TEMPLE'S TELEGRAM. 

A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and WM- 
Itaot Morris. 5 males, 4 females. One interior scene stands throu(h- 
«at the three acts. Costumes modern. Plays 2^ hours. 

"Mrs. Temple's Telegram" is a sprightly farce in which there i« 
aa abundance of fun without any taint of impropriety or any ele- 
ment of offence. As noticed by Sir Walter Scott, "Oh, what » 
tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive." 

There is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and from the time 
tlie ctirtain rises until it makes the linai drop the fun is fast and 
furious. A very exceptional farce. Price, 60 Cent*. 



THE NEW CO-ED. 

A cemiAf ia four acts, by Marie Doran, authsr of "Tempett and 
Snwshiae," etc. Characters, 4 males, 7 females, though any number 
•( hoya Mid girls can be introduced in the action of the play. One 
tMterier ami ene exterior scene, but can be easily played in one inte< 
nor eeeaie. Ccwtumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. 

The theme of this play is the coming of a new studeot to the col- 
kce, iier reieeption by the scholars, her trials and fmal triumph. 

racre arc three espMially Kood girls' parts. Lctty, Madge and 
Ketelie, irat the others have plenty to do. "Punch" Doolittle a«4 
Geerve Washington Watts, a gentleman of color, are two particuiady 
MsA csnutdljr ekaracters. We catt strongly roconunend "The New 
Ce'M" t* fcigk spbools «nd amateurs. Price, 30 Centik 

(Til* Abov« Are Subject to Reyaity When Produced) 
SAMUei. FRENCH, 2»-30 West 3Jtth Str«st, New York City 

M«w Mil itfUm Ddscriffriyi Catiiopi m\*i Frn on KmhwH 



THE WREN 



A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 




BY 
BOOTH TARKINGTON 



Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French 
All Rights Reserved 



CAUTION. — Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned 
that "THE WREN," being fully protected under the 
copyright laws of the United States and Great Britain, 
is subject to a royalty, and anyone presenting the play 
without the consent of the author of his authorized 
agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. 
Applications for the amateur acting rights must be made to 
Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York. Ap- 
plications for the professional acting rights must be made 
to George C. Tyler, New Amsterdam Theatre Building, 
West 42nd .Street, New York. 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30 West 38th Street 



London 
SAMUEL FRENCH 
20 Southampton Street 

London 






Especial notice should be taken that the possession of 
this book without a valid contract for production first 
having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right 
or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play 
publicly or in private for gain or charity. 

In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading 
public only, and no performance, representation, produc- 
tion, recitation, or public reading may be given except by 
special arrangement with Samuel French, 38-30 West 38th 
Street, New York. 

This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment 
of a royalty of Twenty-Five Dollars for each perform- 
ance, payable to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
New York, one week before the date when the play is 
given. 

Whenever the play is produced the following notice must 
appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the 
play: "Produced by special arrangement with Samuel 
French of New York." 

Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for 
any infringement of the author's rights, as follows : 

"Section 4966 : — Any person publicly performing or rep- 
resenting any dramatic or musical composition for which 
copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the 
proprietor of said dramatic or musical compositions, or his 
heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, 
such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not 
less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dol- 
lars for every subsequent performance, as to the court 
shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and 
representation be wilful and for profit, such person or 
persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon con- 
viction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one 
year."— U. S. Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3. 



©CID 



62541 



OCT 21 -22 '"' 



The following is a copj'' of the play-bill of the first per- 
formance of ';THE WREN." 

GAIETY THEATRE, NEW YORK, October 
lo. 1921 

THE WREN 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 

BY 
BOOTH TARKINGTON 

(Direction of George C. Tyler and A. L. Erlanger) 

THE CAST 

Cap"n Olds George Fazvcetf 

Mrs. Freehart Marion Abbott 

Frazee John Flood 

Francis Sam Reed 

Mrs. Frazee Pauline Armifage 

Roddy Leslie Howard 

Seeby Helen Hayes 

The Scene of the three acts is "Cap'n Olds Place" 
on the New England coast. The time, an afternoon 
and evening and the following morning. 



THE WREN 



ACT I 

The former central hall and parlor and "sitting- 
room" of a New England farm-house. The 
partitions have been removed and the hall, the 
parlor and the sitting-room have been thrown 
into one — a large "living-room." The result, 
cheerful enough, is rather interesting ; some- 
thing of the "atmosphere" of traditional Netv 
England is evident; though it is not produced 
by "heirlooms" and "quaint old furniture" that 
have never "been out of the family." The 
former double front doors of the house (pan- 
eled) have' been rubbed down and stained to a 
dark flat tone; then made dully lustrous. They 
are in the back zvall (c.) making the Entrance, 
center. They stand open; just up of them- is a 
narrow platform — the veranda that has been 
added to the house. Up of the veranda can be 
seen a strip of lawn-, the top of the low hill on 
which the house stands. Then, less than half 
a mile away is the placid summer sea; a glimpse 
of creamy shallow surf on a pale yellow beach 
crowned with long green grass — such a beach 
and landscape as one gets not far seaward of the 
State Road a mile or two northeast of Ogden- 
quit. 

5 



6 THE WREN 

Dozvn R. is a\ioor; up r. (in r. wall) is another and 
there are corresponding doors up l. and down 
L. in L. wall. These doors are dark, similar to 
double doors up c, and the woodwork about 
them is ivory in tint similar to the wainscoting. 
The zvalls have been well considered. There 
is a lozv, paneled wood ''dado" or wainscoting, 
about three-and-a-half feet high; it Is n deep 
ivory in color, and the tone is not cold. Above 
this, is a "Colonial Landscape" wall-paper, of 
very good design — probably from Italian iSth 
Century blocks, though it is a modern repro- 
duction. The zvalls should not be painted above 
the wainscoting; actual "Landscape Wall-pa- 
per" should be used, put on and then tinted 
over with a Sienna zvash. A whole hack drop 
is not needed, as only a hacking screen may he 
set up of c.E. Foliage, hills, castles, pagodas, 
figures and birds are seen in it — especially great 
quantities of foliage — hut none of it is obtru- 
sive ; it is rather hrozvnish, or "Sienna," and is 
kept "quiet," is never cold in tone though never 
very warm, either. From the ceiling there hangs 
an oil-lamp lustre — about 1850 to '65 — not an 
opulent one, not "suggesting dames and beaux," 
but sufficiently graceful. There are two win- 
dows in the rear wall, balancing each other; 
they have oblong panes, six up and three across; 
are curtained with chintz and inexpensive 
machine lace. There are two rather hard 
paintings of square-rigged ships, framed in nar- 
rozv gilt; one is on l. wall; the other, r. 

Against r. wall, down, is a Chippendale reproduc- 
tion, a wall table or consol, with wax fruit under 
a glass dome. This is beneath the ship paint- 
ing R. There is a small sofa of "Colonial" de- 



THE WREN 7 

sign R.c. and up of if, against the back of the 
sofa, a small stiffish table with a lustre oil- 
lamp, converted to electricity, and of the "1850 
period." l.c. is a "gate-leg" table with a "Col- 
onial" cover; some books upon it. A Chippen- 
dale "highboy" is against the wall down l. under 
the ship painting l. Up, against l. wall is a 
small ivriting desk, a "Colonial" reproduction. 

There is a small upright piano up l. the back 
obliquely toward us; almost covering the back 
is an old Italian brocade or embroidery, mellow 
and pleasant, r. in the corner, is a small round 
"tavern table" with a bowl of flowers; and 
there are a few flowers (not a great hot-house 
bunch) on the table l.c. The chairs used are 
rather stiffish; farmer "Colonial." 

The room is pleasant, but there is something a little 
rigid and sparse about it; the furniture is not 
luxurious — it is not "New Englandy" ; one con- 
cession is an upholstered (chintz) rocker l.c. 
near the "gate-leg" table. The effect is not at 
all that of the summer resort cottage interior, 
or country-house interior, familiar to the stage. 

Upon the veranda is an old man in a wheel chair; 
the upright type of chair; it can be moved by 
the occupant turning the wheels by hand. The 
old man has white hair and a white mustache, 
not a fashionable mustache, but yet not a 
scraggly one. His complexion is rather mot- 
tled and his eyes are waiery; he has been stout 
and hearty before becoming an invalid. He 
wears silver spectacles, a sea officer's old dark 
blue cap — about the same as a shabby yachting 
cap — a double breasted old dark sack coat; a 



S, THE WREN 

celluloid collar and a narrow black hozv tie; a 
white shirt; a heavy plated watch-chain, 
doubled, across his waistcoat. His legs are con- 
cealed by an old rug, zvhich is placed about them, 
and there is a little old shawl about his shoul- 
ders. When he speaks, he does so simply and 
zvithout any special mannerism; a light cough 
interrupts him- at times. There is a suggestion 
of the Maine coast cadence and accent. He is 
smoking; his back is three quarters to front. 
A few moments after the rise of the curtain he 
puts his cigar out by smothering the fire against 
the lid of a little metal box he takes from his 
coat pocket. He puts the stump in this box 
carefully, and returns the box to his pocket. 
Then he shivers a little and decides to come 
indoors. He tur^s one wheel, turning the chair, 
then propels the chair forward. He runs a 
wheel against the door frame and is jammed. 
Backs off, but is jammed again. He says, in a 
muttering voice, "Damn chair!" and jams a 
third time. An old fashioned brass dinner bell 
(the brass very bright) hangs to the arm, of his 
chair by a string. He rings it. Waits. Rings 
again. 

Then after a moment, Mrs. Freehart enters down 
R. She is a stoutish, phlegmatic and expression- 
less woman of fifty or more; dressed in ser- 
viceable working- clothes suitable for a country 
boarding-house cook. Her sleeves are rolled 
up and she wipes her hands on a checked apron 
as she comes in. 

Mrs. Freehart, (In dull voice as she enters) 
Wha'chu want, Cap'n? 



THE WREN 9 

Captain. I always do jam in this door. Where's 
Seeby? (His voice is strong, but tremulous.) 

Mrs. Freehart. Out helpin' Francis with the 
weedin'. (Her accent is clearly New England's; 
the short "i" ; in the four words above in which it 
occurs, it is rather marked, but not stressed; differ- 
ent from the Midland "help'n," "weed'n," and 
"Fransus.'') 

Captain. Well, you git me in, then. It comes on 
a little smart from sou' — sou'-east a bit ago. (As 
she comes to him and takes hold of the chair-hack.) 
Nothin' 'cept a little breeze, but I chill dreadful easy, 
since I had my stroke. (Getting out a white hand- 
kerchief and applying it to his nose.) 

Mrs. Freehart. (Pushing him in) Well, we all 
got to go some time, Cap'n. (To l. of table r.) 

Captain. (A little crisply) I ain't gone yet! 
(Puts his handkerchief away. Mrs. Freehart 
folds rug, put it on chair r. of c. door.) There, 
leggo. I can take care myself now. (His eye has 
been struck by the piano, as she wheeled him in, and 
now he points to it.) Who done that? 

Mrs. Freehart. Done what? 

Captain. Put that on the piano. 

Mrs. Freehart. Seeby did. 

Captain. You know what that is she's put on 
it? 

Mrs. Freehart. (She crosses l. to brocade) 
Got it out of your sea-trunk in the garrit. (Exam- 
ining the old fabric on piano.) 

Captain. I bought that off a smuggler in the 
port o' Marseilles — Marseile-ya they call it — ^in 
eighteen hundred an' eighty-one. I was first mate 
the ship "Lucy Jones." She was a slow ship, the 
"Lucy Jones" was. Who told Seeby she could take 
an' git that out my sea-trunk ? 



lo THE WREN 

Mrs. Freehart. She was showin' the things in 
it to the he-boarder. That artist. 

Captain. D'he tell her to put it on the piano? 

Mrs. Freehart. Guess he did. 

Captain. (Not exactly grumbling but comment- 
ing ivithout pleasure as he looks about the room) 
Yes ; he's told her lots o' things, she's fixed the place 
different on account of. (Looking at the table doxvn 
-R.) Last season he told her to git them wax peaches 
— goin' back to old fashions. Sh'd think an artist 
'd be more up-to-date ! 

Mrs. Freehart. (At c.E.j Want the doors 
closed? (She is preparing to leave him and go off 

R.) 

Captain. No. Let 'em open. ('Mrs. Freehart 
has happened to glance off from c. to r. and her 
attention is arrested.) 

Mrs. Freehart. (Calling off) Hee-uh! (This 
is Maine for "Here" and is known to the ears, if 
not to the active consciousness, of all tourists and 
summerers familiar with the seaboard. Mrs. Free- 
hart repeats it, raising her voice.) Hee-uh! 

Captain. What's matter? (He really says 
"Matfuh" ; the 'Ys" are snubbed by these people, 
but not in the Southern manner. The Captain says 
"fuh" instead of "for," etc. So do Mrs. Freehart 
and Francis.^ 

Mrs. Freehart. (Calling off) You're goin' t' 
th' back o' the house ! Come t' this door hee-uh ! 

Captain. Who is it? 

Mrs. Freehart. Guess he might want to room 
an' meal. He's got a bag, but it's too early in the 
season for pedluhs. 

Captain. / won't buy nothin' ofif him. 

('Frazee appears outside e.g. and comes up on the 
veranda. He is a good looking city business- 



THE WREN II 

man, in his thirties; rather serious, capable of 
acting with great determination; a man of no 
inconsiderable strength. He is dressed as a 
"city business-man" would dress, of course; 
but his hat is a soft ''town or country hat" ; it 
is too early for him to wear strazv. His shoes 
and the bottoms of his trousers are dusty, and 
he carries a rather large traveling-bog — not a 
new one.) 

Frazee. Is this Captain Olds' place? (^Mrs. 
Freeh ART gestures towards the Captain. Frazee 
comes toward^ him.) Are you the landlord? 

Captain. (Looking at the bag) I ain't goin' buy 
anythin' off o' ye. (Not offensively, but zvith a quiet 
that would never yield.) 

Frazee. (Understanding him, but not smiling) 
A Mrs. Frazee is staying here, isn't she ? 

Captain. (Still non-committal) Mrs. Frazee? 
Yes, she is. Rooms and meals here. 

Frazee. I'm Mr. Frazee. I walked over from 
the station. 

Captain. Oh ; — Mrs. Frazee's husband. Goin' 
to stay some time? You want to double up with 
Mrs. Frazee ? 

Frazee. (Setting down his bag) I'd like a room 
adjoining hers. I thought as it's so early in the 
season there'd be no trouble 

Captain. (Interrupting) Seeby'll fix it. My- 
self I don't 'tend to c?^tails much. I had kind of a 
stroke, fourteenth last October, a little after three 
in the afternoon. 

Mrs. Freehart. (Impersonally) Yes. We all 
have to go some time. 

Captain. (More testily than when he said this 
before) I ain't gone yet, please ! You go tell Seeby 
what this gentleman wants, Mrs. Freehart. (She 



12 THE WREN 

goes out down r. Captain stares after her some- 
what unfavorably. He explains her to FrazeeJ 
Her, she's cookin' here ; name's Mrs. Freehart. Too 
gabby, too ! 

Frazee. (Looking about) I thought perhaps my 
wife might be somewhere (He turns up.) 

Captain. She ain't in. an' I'd' know's I could 
tell you where to find 'er. 

Frazee. (A little disappointed) Oh. 

Captain. Might's well set down. ('Frazee sits 
R. of table.) Mrs. Freehart's got to git word to 
Seeb}'' which room you can have, an' Seeby's gar- 
denin'. Trunk ? 

Frazee. Yes ; at the station. 

Captain. Seeby'll have it fetched fer ye. Up 
to July we run with kind of a light staff — jest Mrs. 
Freehart and a head bell-boy, or porter — as you 
might call him. The boarders don't thick up, to 
speak of, not till July. It's nice an' quiet now. 

Frazee. Yes ; that's what Mrs. Frazee heard 
wlien she decided to come here. Her nerves had got 
pretty bad last winter. 

Captain. (Rather fatuously) Well, this is good 
place to rest 'em in. As you say, there ain't nothin' 
to tax 'em, so to speak. So far, we ain't had but 
one other boarder, 'cep'n your wife. 

Frazee. (Looking thoughtful ) Only one other. 
(Not a question.) Still here? 

Captain. (Nodding) Artist. He was here all 
last season too — came down from Canada — Canucks, 
we call 'em — goes outdoors and paints all day long. 
Everything by hand. (Not a stressed point, but 
casual.) 

Frazee. I think my wife mentioned there was a 
young Canadian painter here in one of her earlier 
letters ; I think she mentioned his name — Tet me 
see 



THE WREN 13 

Captain. Roddy. Mr. Hugh Roddy. These 
paintin's he makes, sometime they look a good deal 
like what he makes 'em of. Yessir. you take one. of 
'em, an' take an' look at it, an' pretty often you can 
tell just about what it's of. (Pauses.) Sold a 
couple of 'em, last year, he says. (Contemplative 
tone, not pointed on the emphasis; Captain doesn't 
really doubt the sale. Dtirijtg this speech Frazee 
has taken a cigar case from his pocket; he is not 
sure that smoking is prohibited.) 

Frazee, Is it all right to ? 

Captain. Yes ; you can smoke here. 

Frazee. (Offering the case; rises) Will you ? 

Captain. (Taking a cigar) Thank ye. ('Frazee 
strikes a match; he lights the Captain's and his ozvn 
cigar. Captain looks at the cigar, saying amiably.) 
As you say, I guess that's too long a smoke ; it's 
close on time for my nap ; I'll jest make it a little one. 
(He puts the cigar in his pocket; takes the box from 
another pocket, selects a stub zmth some care, and 
lights it.) Yes ; this Mr. Roddy, the artist, he came 
in April, this year. 

Frazee. (Seeming preoccupied and froivning 
slightly as he smokes, noiv glances at Captain and 
then away) I'm glad my wife found such a quiet 
place. 

Captain. Yes? Two-lhree-four weeks in our 
climate, that's all anybuddy needs to fix 'em. You 
cal'late to stay some time? 

Frazee. I'm not sure. I'm a pretty busy man. 
(Cross L, to L. of table. Captain is noxv artfully 
finding out about Frazee. J 

Captain. I guess so. In — in some business or 
other, likely? 

Frazee. I manufacture machinery for cotton 
mills. (Crosses to R.j 



14 THE WREN 

Captain. (Nodding casually) That's what I 
thought ; — likely. 

Frazee. (Quietly, but preoccupied) The fact 

is (Breaks off, then goes on.) My wife wrote 

me some time ago this place agreed with her, but I 
wanted to see for myself. I thought I'd just come 
and 

Captain. (Affably) Natcha'ly, natcha'ly. She 
— she didn't mention anythin' to us, your comin'. 

Frazee. (Smiling) I didn't find I could get 
away until yesterday, I thought I'd surprise her. 
(Speaks with a little hesitation — though smiling.) 

Captain. I see. 

Frazee. You say you think she seems better than 
when she came? (Sits in chair r. of fable.) 

Captain. Yes ; seems so. 

Frazee. Well, that's rather a relief to me. I'd 
been worrying a little lately for fear 

Captain. (Reassuringly) Oh, she's hearty. 
Why, some days she goes out all day with this Mr. 
Roddy ; carries heavy bundles for him to use in his 
paintin'. 

Frazee. (Someivhat surprised) She does, really ? 

Captain. (Still heartily reassuring him and 
speaking rather rapidly) She walked six mile, day 
before yesterday ; he was paintin' down at Porpoise 
Cove, an' she walked three mile there an' three mile 
back to carry his lunch to him. (Going on quickly, 
in the same affable and reassuring tone.) I dunno 
where they are to-day, but they'll be back soon now. 
It's gittin' on the afternoon an' they use'ly show up 
'bout this time. 

Frazee. "Usually"? (He does not point the 
zvord at all strongly; but is thoughtful. As he 
speaks, he rises and goes up, looking off as though 
thinking he might see his wife. He continues.) I 
suppose my wife may have mentioned she'd been 



THE WREN 15 

suffering from — ah — depression — before she came 
here. 

Captain. (Amused and surprised) She wasf 

Frazee. You say she seems more cheerful? 

Captain. Cheerful? My! Pounds the plana by 
the hour. (Then, complacently.) Mr. Roddy, he's 
got quite a strong fancy for music. 

Frazee. (Halts in turning up, checked by this. 
He has begun to attach some significance to the 
Captain^s genuinely artless remark; and he shows 
this — slightly — by his tone) He has? 

Captain. My ; yes ! Guess he'd set f 'rever if 
Mrs. Frazee'd play to him ! f Frazee turits tip and 
looks off. Mrs. Freehart enters down r.J 

Mrs. Freehart. (As she opens the door, ad- 
dressing Frazee rapidly in a monotone) Seeby says 
tell you she'll have your room ready for you in a 
jiffy. Francis comin' see about trunk. 

('Francis enters down r. from, behind Mrs. Free- 
hart. He is a tanned and weather-beaten, thin, 
elderly, rather plaintive looking man, gray 
haired and smooth shaven; he stoops a little and 
has a thin, elderly tenor voice. He wears dusty 
overalls, dusty heavy shoes, a worn, dust-col- 
ored figured shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to 
the elbow, showing his tanned arms. He wears 
an old black waistcoat — showing a plated watch- 
chain — but no coat or hat. As he comes in he 
has to cross below Mrs. Freehart; her back is 
toward him, and he gives her a hearty slap 
between the shoulder blades with his left hand. 
He goes straight on, not even looking at her, 
and apparently unaware of this action. She 
also seems unaware of it; and the Captain 
(i^.c.) and Frazee (Up c.) looking up again — 
though he has turned his head for a moment at 



1 6 THE WREN 

Mrs. Freehart's speech — do not see this casual 
slap. Mrs. Freehart goes out down r., paying 
no attention to Francis. It should be noted 
that the Captain, Mrs. Freehart and Fran- 
cis habitually speak rapidly; they do not drawl.) 

Francis. (As he comes toward c.) Seeby says 
f me hitch up the buckboard, fetch a trunk. (He 
speaks and looks expressionlessly .) 

Captain. Then why n't chu do's she says, Fran- 
cis? 

Francis. Whuzza tickit ? (He means "Where is 
the ticket" i.e., trunk check.) 

Captain. (As his back is toward Frazee and 
Frazee's back is toward him, he calls) Hee-uh ! 
see hee-uh ! ('Frazee looks at him and comes down; 
Captain continuing.) This is Francis. (Crosses 
to c. Francis's name is always spoken in the New 
England way, the "a" half-broad, and the "i" short. 
It should be noted, too, that broad "a" is always 
shortened in words like "father," "car," etc.) He's 
the bell-boy, or more like a porter, as you say. 
Wants your trunk check. 

Frazee. Oh, yes. (Gives Francis the check and 
a half-dollar ; Francis acknowledges the latter by a 
short expressionless nod. and seems very slightly to 
chew upon something minute zmth his front teeth. 
Frazee goes on, to Captain.J Ah — Fve been ten 

hours on the train and if I could go to my room 

(He speaks tentatively with a gesture toward his 
bag.) 

Francis. (With a brief gesture toward l.) She's 
upstairs puttin' the bed-clo'es on the bed. 

Frazee. (A little mystified) I see. 

Francis. She'll fix ye. 

Captain. (Nodding) Yes. You see, sense I 
had my stroke (He speaks the zvord always 



THE WREN 17 

with a little importance, having really a hint of Mr. 
Pepy's pride in being "cut for the stone" ; and 
he makes a tiny pause after delivering the word, to 
give it weight, hut this time Francis takes him up, 
interrupting before he can go on.) 

Francis. (With complacency) Yes, as the sayin' 
is; we all got to go some time. 

Captain. (Dryly; annoyed) Yes, an' some 
mebbe 'fore I do. 

Francis. (Going to Frazeej Cap'n's s'prized 
whole commun'ty. Like my fathuh ! (Father.) 
My fathuh had a stroke ; then he took an' lingered 
on us child'en close on sixteen months. 

Captain. (With an expression of distaste) You 
go up t' th' station fetch that trunk. ^Frazee 
comes down L.j 

Francis. Seeby says wait take his valise up t' 
his room. She's comin' down hee-uh. (Sidewise 
nod of his head to l. as he speaks to Frazee. j She's 
gotche fixed. (Takes suit case.) 

Captain. (Nodding reassuringly) Yes. Seeb)^'ll 
look after ye. 

(The door up l. opens, and Eusebia Olds — Seeby 
— enters there. She is only nineteen or tiventy, 
but a responsible ivatchfulness and gravity of 
expression — and a slight stoop that comes upon 
her at times — suggest that she has a great deal 
to do and much to look out for; that already, in 
fact, she is rather hard-worked and a little care- 
worn. Shp is a New England girl; a "State o' 
Maine" girl of the coast ; and she is well enough 
"educated" — she teaches school in the winter, 
herself — and she has graduated at the town 
High School; has had a year at a school in Port- 
land. Her hair is wavy, but is "done^' simply; 
her clothes are good and not "out of style" ; but 



i8 THE WREN 

are not "smart." She gets fashions, of course, 
from the magazines. Her present dress is very 
simple, of a dark material; and she wears an 
apron. Her voice is charming; as sometimes a 
Maine coast woman's voice is charming; there 
are traces sometimes, of the Maine pronuncia- 
tion and cadence; she always shortens the prop- 
erly broad "a" for instance, calling the Captain 
"fathuh." She comes in, leaving the door open 
behind her, as Frazeb and Francis are to go 
out that zvay. She speaks to Francis in a voice 
very slightly "hushed" or suppressed. She is 
really excited in a troubled way, but is sup- 
pressing it. She gives Frazee a slight bow, not 
a quick one, hoivever; looking at him with grave 
interest.) 

Seeby. Your room is ready. The — porter will 
show you. (She pauses the slightest bit before say- 
ing the word "porter" and looks at Francis, who 
goes to the door l. with the bag.) 

Frazee. (Starting to follow) Thanks. 

Seeby. (In the same voice and with a slight 
movement to indicate her father) Fm Miss Olds. 
The rate for the room is three dollars a day, if you 
take it by the day. By the week it's eighteen. 

Frazee. (i.., sjniling faintly) Vm not sure just 
how long I can stay. May I decide that point later? 

Seeby. (Quietly) Certainly, ('Frazee looks at 
her while Francis speaks.) 

Francis. (Going out up l.) This way. 

Frazee. (To Seeby J Thank you. (He nods 
and goes out up l.) 

Seeby. (Watches him. When he has disappeared 
from front vieiv she crosses to the open door up l., 
still seeming to look after him. Then she slowly 
closes the door, and speaks apparently to herself. 



THE WREN 19 

slowly and thoughtfully) So that's Mr. Frazee! 
(The zvord "Mister" very slightly stressed.) 

Captain. (Has again extinguished the stub of 
cigar, and though it is now very small, he decides to 
put it back in the box, and does so as he speaks) 
Yes, sir ; that's Mr. Frazee. Good man, too — cotton- 
mill m'sheen'ry. Why, it looks to me ; they're nice 
off. I could tell first time I looked at her, she's one 
them women leads a easy life, Innapenent. 

Seeby. (Thoughtfully, at table) Yes — she seems 
independent. (She has rested a hand on the table, 
looking down at it absently; then she looks up.) 
She isn't expecting him. 

Captain. (Cheerfully) No. He's goin' to give 
her a surprise. 

Seeby. (Going up to look off ; as if toward 
Mrs. Frazee; speaks gravely) I think likely he 
will. (In all these speeches she feels and means 
more than appears on the surface.) 

Captain. (Upon a thought, twisting chair) 
Hee-uh! Seeby, who told you you might git that 
Marsile-ya embrawd'ry out my sea-trunk ? (Gestur- 
ing to piano.) 

Seeby. (Suddenly looking at him sharply and 
frowning) Father! (To back of door for whisk 
broom. She really says "fathuh.") 

Captain. (Surprised) What? 

Seeby. (Going toward the "high-boy" but look- 
ing at the Captain disapprovingly) Father, you've 
been dropping ashes in your lap again. (Brushes 
ashes into waste basket.) 

Captain. (Slightly querulous) Well, I didn't 
want to put 'em on the floor! (As if putting them 
on the floor were putting them in the last possible 
place.) 

Seeby. (Gesturing to table as she applies the 
wisp to him) But there's the ash-tray. (Points l. 



20 THE WREN 

This business quiet and serious, though she is really 
only avoiding his question about the piano drapery.) 

Captain. Well, this Mr. Frazee was usin' it. 
You ain't answered me who told you you could stick 
that Marsile-ya embrawd'ry on the piana. 

Seeby. (Gravely after glancing at it) Yes. It's 
beautiful there. 

Captain. (A little peevish) I knoiv who! Mr. 
Roddy told you to do that. 

^Mrs. Freehart enters r. looking uninterested; she 
has a zuooden spoon and a mixing-bowl of light 
dough, for the strawberry short-cake, in her 
hands. She remains near the door.) 

Mrs. Freehart. Is this light enough? 

Seebv. Yes, that's all right. 

Mrs. Freehart. Well, I see her husband's here. 

Seeby. Well ? 

Mrs. Freehart. First time I laid eyes on her, I 
expected he'd look about like that. 

Seeby. Like what? 

Mrs. Freehart. Like he ought to of knowed 
better. 

Seeby. I believe you'll need all your mind on the 
short-cake, Mrs. Freehart. 

Mrs. Freehart. (Languidly) Oh, my mind 
ain't on nawthiir. (To Seeby.) Think this looks 
light enough ? (^Francis, up, pause.) 

Seeby. (Absently, looking at it) Oh, yes. that's 
all right. 

Francis. (With a glance and thumb to upward) 
He's takin' a bath. 

Mrs. Freehart. Cities must be awful dirty. 
First thing they do when they git here, nine out o' 
ten of 'em go git right in water. 

Francis. (Shaking his head) Yes. I guess they 



THE WREN 21 

like it because they don't haf to make their Hvin' 
by it. (Changing his tone to affected casualness.) 
Well, I guess he's a nice man, though. Talked to 
me right nice and common. 

Mrs. Freehart. (Casually, indifferent) What 
you make out he'd do if he'd git mad — any thin' 
resky ? 

Seebv. (Coldly) What are you talking about? 

Mrs. Freehart. Nawthin' — I jest wondered 
what kind of a man he'd turn out to be if he did git 
upset about somethin' or other. Don't s'pose he's 
heard anythin'. 

Seeby. What is there for him to hear? 

Mrs. Freehart. Nawthin'. 

Francis. (Ltghtlv satirical) Oh, no ! nawthin' 
'tall! 

Seeby. (Turning to look at him) Are you still 
here, Francis? 

Francis. Oh! (Exit to up l.) 

Mrs. Freehart. Well, s'pose he hasn't said any- 
thing yet. 

Seeby. Who ? 

Mrs. Freehart. Mrs. Frazee's husband. 

Seeby. What do you expect him to say and what 
about ? (Then, as Mrs. Freehart is promptly about 
to speak, Seeby' checks her.) Never mind — don't 
you think that had better be in the oven, Mrs. Free- 
hart? 

Mrs. Freehart. (Going casually) Oh, I wasn't 
hardly lookin' for any news, yet. (Exit r. Seeby 
stares after her gravely.) 

Captain. What's she mean, news? What news ' 
is she looking for, account of this Mr. Frazee takin' 
a bath ? 

Seeby'. Nothing — she and Francis just like to 
talk about nothing. 

Captain. I sh'd say so! Guess a man's got a 



22 THE WREN 

right to take a bath if he's a mind to, without it's 
being called news! 

Seeby. They didn't mean anything. (Concluding 
with the whisk.) There! (With gentle severity.) 
Did you spill any on the floor? 

Captain. (Briefly) N' I didn't. (As she goes 
with the whisk hack to the "high-hoy" he continues 
querulously.) I was readin' a magazine where it 
says th' young folks nowadays have got all so bold ; 
they don't respeck their parents an' th' Bible. Bold ; 
that's what they are. 

Seeby. (Brings some sezving from the door; 
thoughtfully , closing the drazver) I would like to 
be a little bold, if I had time and knew how. ('Cap- 
tain grunts and shakes his head; as Francis enters 
up L.) 

Francis. (As he enters, referring to upstairs L.j 
He's goin' take a bath. (Jn 'hath" he uses a rather 
broad "a" — not quite "ah" hozuevcr.) 

Seeby. (Getting some sewing — napkins she is 
hemming, from, another drazver of the "high-boy") 
Close the door, Francis. Always close 'em behind 
you. (Patiently, hut a little like a school teacher.) 
And remember to open his trunk for him when you 
bring it. 

Francis. (Closing the door and going up) Til 
rememb'r it, Seeby. I already remembered t' open 
'is valise for 'im. He seemed t' 'predate it, too. 
(Exit cheerfully c. to r.) 

Captain. H'm. (A ruminative sound.) Awed, 
too ! (He means "odd.") 

Seeby. (Sezving) What's odd. Father? 

Captain. This Mr. Frazee. Told me he was 
frettin' 'count of his woman. 

Seeby. (Looking at him quickly) About Mrs. 
Frazee ? 

Captain. Yes. 'Bout her health. 



THE WREN 23 

Seeby. (As if somewhat incredulous) About 
her health ? 

Captain. Yes — and her the very picture of it! 
An' I told 'im so, so I told him ! 

Seeby. (Looking again at her work, speaks with- 
out emphasis) No. I don't think he need fret 
about that. (She feels, hozvever, that he might fret 
about other things.) 

Captain. She might 'a' looked kind o' peaked 
the first two-three days after she come — but I told 
him, "By Glory," I says, "she's strong; why. she can 
walk six or eight or ten miles any day and carry this 
here artist's lunch or his paints for him," I says. 
('Captain implies nothing.) 

Seeby. (Looking at him) You did? Did you 
tell Mr. Frazee that, father? (Verv slight emphasis 
on "that.") 

Captain. (Fretfully) Yes did. Whatche peckin' 
at me for nowF Any reason I shouldn't tell a man 
how well his wife's lookin'? 

Seeby. (Slowly) No. I guess it's just as well. 

Captain. (Pettishly — almost childishly) Always 
tryin' to make out I done somethin' out the way ! 

Seeby. (Gently, but casually, as this happens 
frequently and she is used to it) No, no. 

Captain. (Insisting feebly) You do. Always 
tryin' to make me out a goob ! You do. Seeby. Had 
eight childern an' you had to be the only one to live ! 
(He sniffs.) 

Seeby. (At a thought) What time is it, father? 

Captain. (Looking at his watch) It's twenty 
before six. (His voice is plaintively reproachful, 
and he sniffs again.) 

Seeby. (Getting up and putting her sewing on 
the table by the sofa r.c, speaks quietly; patience in 
her voice) That's what's the matter with you. (She 



24 THE WREN 

hears something outdoors — rises.) You're late for 
your nap before supper. 

Captain. (Peevish, almost whimpering) No, 
I doe' ivant to go yet. Ain't that Mrs. Frazee an' 
Mr. Roddy comin' home out yon? I can hear 'em. 
(Laughter is heard at a distance.) 

Seeby. (About to push his chair) Yes, they're 
coming. So you'd better 

Captain. (Like a wilful child) I want to be the 
one to tell her husband's hee-uh. 

Seeby. (Seriously, quickly) No. You mustn't. 

Captain. Why not? 

Seeby. He said he wanted to surprise her, didn't 
he? 

Captain. Well, I want 

Seeby. (Seriously) No ; you mustn't mention 
it. 

Captain. (Pettishly; childishly) Oh, pshaw! 
(This dialogue has been rapid.) 

Seeby. You mustn't. 

(The laughter outside, not noisy, is of fzvo people, 
a man and a zvoman; it becomes a little louder 
and Roddy and Clara ('Mrs. Frazee^ rush in 
C.E., Roddy appearing first. He is a finely 
handsome, healthy young man; about twenty- 
six; graceful, nervous, "temperamental" and 
"high strung" ; quick in change of extreme 
moods. He has no outward sign of being an 
"artist'' : his hair is not long; his soft collar is 
conventional — though rather wilted now; he 
wears knickerbockers; his shoes and stockings 
are dusty; his shirt is not just from a dressing- 
case. His sleeves are rolled up; his coat is over 
his arm; his cap in his trouser's pocket. He 
carries a fair-sised stretched canvas ; a scraped 
palette: a folding easel (an old one); a large 



THE WREN 



-D 



tin paint box. About his neck is a chain of 
daisies. Clara is an extremely handsome wo- 
man of twenty- four or twenty-five ; she is of a 
fine, "highbred," type; and she also is "tempera- 
mental." She is tall, graceful, of a "fine figure" 
and "attractive." She wears a short "sport 
skirt," tall zvalking-boots, a shirt-waist with the 
sleeves rolled up; a "sport hat"; her shoes, 
stockings and skirt are dusty; there is a "daisy 
chain" about her throat. She carries an old 
camp-stool and a lunch basket nozv fidl of zvild 
flowers. Both she and Roddy have the appear- 
ance of persons who have been picnicing in the 
open all day. They are flushed, healthy, and in 
the liveliest spirits — as ready to laugh as happy 
children. They come on with a rush, laughing. 
Roddy comes first, pretending a flight. Clara 
runs after him pelting him wtih handfuls of 
buttercups and daisies which he pretends to 
dodge. Seeby at once leaves the Captain r.c. 
— she has been wheeling him to r.e. — and hur- 
ries, silently, to pick up the raining flowers. 
Roddy dodges to r. then l. where Clara pushes 
him into a chair and puts daisies in his<hair. All 
this while, she is laughing and reproaching him. 
("You story-feller ! I never knew such an in- 
sulting villain!" ad lib.) And he, laughing, is 
protesting: ("It's the truth! I can't help tell- 
ing the truth, can If You were scared. You 
know you were! You can't deny it. Look oui 
for the paint!" ad lib.) He brushes off the 
daisies she puts in his hair. Seeby, on her 
knees, picks them up as rapidly as possible.) 

Clara. (Leaving him, goes to sofa as if merrily 
exhausted ; drops upon it; speech during this action) 



26 THE WREN 

I never knew such a man ! Captain Olds, he accused 
me of being afraid of your geese down that lane! 

Roddy. (Rising to put his canvas against the 
piano. Dry side out) She was ! Why, Captain, 
she fairly clung to me ! For protection, she said ! 
(Arranging his other things on the floor by the can- 
vas.) 

Clara. What a boast! Miss Olds, do 3'ou believe 
him? 

Seeby. (On her knees, picking up the flowers) 
I da' know. 

Clara. (Puts flower basket on table) Captain 
Olds, if any lady ever clung to you, for protection, 
or any other reason, you didn't go about boasting 
of it, did you? 

Captain. (In a fretful aged voice) Me? I 
wan'd a-tell ye, but Seeby says not to. They's a 
surprise comin' 

Seeby. (Jumping up) Father ! (To the others.) 
Strawb'ry short-cake for supper; it'll be a surprise 
if Mrs. Freehart doesn't spoil it! (Going R., she 
drops the flowers in a zvaste-basket under the table 

R.C.J 

Captain. I mean to tell ye 

Seeby. (Taking hold of the chair back) Yes, 
father ; we know. (To the others, explaining quiet- 
ly.) He's been getting fretful because he passed the 
time for his nap. (Pushing him out up r.J 

Captain, I want to tell her about 

Seeby. Yes, father. We know. We know! 
(She closes the door after her.) 

Roddy, (Crosses to sofa) What a day! What 
a noble old day we've had ! 

Clara. (Impulsively) Let me try to tell it! 
(She runs to the piano.) Let me see if I can get 
what it was like. (She dashes off a thumping im- 



THE WREN 27 

provization; a run of melody and chords most exult- 
ant and ebullient.) 

Roddy. (Standing still, his eyes sparkling) By 
George ! That's it ! Fields o' buttercups and daisies ! 
Sky laughing- like a girl with the devil in her and 
afraid of geese ! 

Clara. (More graz'ely) Yes ; you and I were 

out in that sky, weren't we? Perhaps I can 

(Her music becomes tender and caressing — a love 
strain.) 

Roddy. (Softly) By George ! Yes. (Crosses to 
her.) There was something of that in it, too — for 
you and me. Yes ; you're telling it. (He turns up, 
halts and asks huskily.) Do you ever improvise like 
that — for anybody else ? 

Clara. (Still playing, but very softly) I don't 
think so. I don't believe — I could. 

Roddy. I hope not. I'd hate to think 

Clara. (As he pauses, she stops playing) Hate 
to think what? 

Roddy. I'd hate to think any other (He 

stops. She nods.) 

Clara. I know. (She plays again.) 

Roddy. (Above piano) "Had I lain for a cen- 
tury dead, my dust would hear that and beat " 

(Crosses to piano.) I think I'd hear it and come 
back if you played near my cemetery! 

Clara. (Music stops) Would you? 

Roddy. My Lord! what your playing is to me! 
(Goes l. again.) 

Clara. Only my — playing? 

Roddy. (As they both laugh rather tremulously; 
he moves back) Don't those first few days after 
you came here seem funny, to look back on? 

Clara. Yes— I hardly noticed you I (She laughs 
and shakes her head.) I had an idea you were 
rather interested in — -in Miss Eusebia Olds ! (Speaks 



28 THE WREN 

the names drolly; laughs and chants with piano.) 
"Oh, you must be in love with the landlord's daugh- 
ter or you'll never get a second piece of pie !" (Then 
she plays seriously again.) 

Roddy. (Crosses to c. Frowning, speaks rapidly) 
This is what I've wanted all my life — a woman's 
mood making my mood — and in music — when I get 
in the depths 

Clara. (Coming from the piano) Well, I get in 
the depths, too, Hugh. (Both are very serious.) 

Roddy. (Earnestly ) Everybody does that's got 
Art in them ! We're both nothing but Art ! 

Clara. (Smiling faintly) Really, we are just 
alike, aren't we? 

Roddy. Yes. You're stung by the ugly spots in 
life just the way I am ; it's a kind of agony to be as 
sensitive to color as I am ! 

Clara. Yes. I have that, too. 

Roddy. There are things that kill me ! (Walking 
about R.^ And they're everywhere — you never get 
away from 'em. Look at this damnable room, for 
instance ! 

Clara. Yes. Almost all rooms everywhere, are 
bad. 

Roddy. (Walking about almost passionately) I 
tried to show her last year how it ought to be ; she 
said she'd have it "right" when I came this spring — 
and look at it! Even the chintz isn't the shade I 
told her! (Almost vehement on this.) 

Clara, (c. Looking at him) But there was 
one thing here that wasn't so bad, wasn't there? 

Roddy. Not till you came! 

Clara. (Smiling and biting her lip) That's what 
I meant. 

Roddy. (Crosses to her. Coming out of the 
dumps, smiling) You do charm a man! 

Clara. How long^? 



THE WREN 39 

Roddy, (Taking her hands) Oh, it mustn't ever 
stop! (As in a half -laughing alarm.) 

Clara. No. It mustn't. 

Roddy. (Again suddenly very grave; with great 
feeling) I don't think I could stand it. 

Clara. (Speaking for herself and half-turning 
her head away) Are you sure? (Then they look 
at each other with solemnity. He still has her hands.) 

('Seeby enters quietly up R., making no sign that 
she is aivare of them, going to the sofa r.c. 
Clara sees her and detaches her hands from 
Roddy's ; he looks inquiringly at Clara, who 
becomes fortual in expression; he glances round, 
sees Seeby, zvho seats herself on the sofa and, 
tvithout looking at them, picks up her sewing. 
He is annoyed and embarrassed but tries to 
show neither feeling; clears his throat — not 
markedly — and passes his hand over his face. 
Clara turns %ip, rather slozdy, after a short, 
cold, comprehending glance at Seeby.j 

Clara. Ah — I think I really ought to be chang- 
ing my dress. ' 

Seeby. (Quietly; seeming to concentrate on her 
sewing) Was she playing the piano for you ? 

Roddy. (Not quite at case) Why 

Clara. (Very slightly — and not openly — shozv- 
ing annoyance) Yes ; I was playing. 

Seeby. (Giving an instant's fleet, frightened 
zvistful, sidelong glance at Roddy, who is not far l. 
of her. And then looking back at sezving in zvhich 
her hands — having paused an instant for this look — 
are again mozAng : she speaks quietly, her face com- 
posed; but there is the thousandth part of a tremble 
in her voice and the least tremble to her hands) 
I — never did — sing for you, did I ? 



30 THE WREN 

Roddy. (Somewhat surprised) Why, no. 

Seeby. I will, some time soon. I sing— right 
well. Francis plays the guitar and he sings and I 
sing too. (She swallows.) We'll do it for you any 
time you like. 

Roddy. (Still surprised, but not enthusiastic. He 
is polite, however) Thank you ; I'll be glad to hear 
you. (To Clara who has turned down toward r.e.) 
Are you going? (Moving toward her.) Would it 
be too much to ask 

Clara. What ? 

Roddy. If you could play that second part again ? 
There are times when one just has to hear certain 
things right then. Could you? 

Clara. I think I can. (She goes to the piano 
and repeats the love motive of her improvisation. 
Seeby's sewing slowly droops to her lap; she turns 
her head slowly, her eyes resting upon Roddy until 
he moves toward the piano; then she looks out before 
her again. Clara stops playing ; there is a moment's 
silence; then Seeby begins to sew and speaks rather 
slowly and with slight expression but quite distinct- 
ly — her tone is not openly hostile, however.) 

Seeby. That music sounds as if it meant some- 
thing about love. I mean a certain kind of love. 

Clara. Oh ? 

Seeby. We been taking summer people here since 
I was five years old, and of course there isn't any 
place where you see as many kinds of love as a 
summer boarding-house. (They stare at her. Then, 
after a. moment's pause.) 

Clara. (Quietly, but a little tensely in her annoy- 
ance) What kind of love did my playing remind 
you of? 

Seeby. (With the same manner as before : nearly 
a patient monotone) The kind most of it is. 

Clara. Indeed ? 



THE WREN 31 

Seeby. Mostly, there's only one thing they care 
about in the person they're in love with — it's that 
person's getting excited about them, f Clara, after 
a moment, rather impatiently strikes a chord or two.) 

Roddy. (To her) Please go on. ('Seeby glances 
round at them as Clara again begins to play. Roddy 
leans on the piano — lover-like, looking at Clara. j 

Seeby. (Sewing, draws a deep breath, but does 
not look round as she speaks) I guess it's time to 
mention — Mr. Frazee's here. 

Clara. (Her hands striking the keys uncertainly 
as she stops playing) What ! (She rises trembling, 
drops down.) 

Roddy. (Crosses l.c. Sharply, to SeebyJ What 
did you say ? 

Seeby. Mr. Frazee came this afternoon. It's he 
you can hear coming downstairs now. 

Roddy. (Agitated, turning swiftly to ClaraJ 

You didn't (He would finish by saying "tell 

me he was coming," but Seeby interrupts.) 

Seeby. (With a slight gesture to l.) He's just 
going to open the door. (She speaks quickly, but in 
the tones of "hushed" patience. It is the way a 
tired and tried but self-contained mother would 
warn unruly children that a not-to-be-trified-with 
father is almost upon them.) 

('Frazee enters l. He has changed his clothes for 
a gray flannel suit, and looks freshened; but he 
is serious. Clara has not recovered from the 
shock of Seeby's announcement that Frazee is 
in the house. She has not, indeed, quite real- 
ised that he is really there — until she has seen 
him. She tries out his name in a voice that 
could be interpreted as one of dismay, though it 
is definitely nothing more than emotional.) 



32 THE WREN 

Frazee. (As he comes in) Clara 

Clara. Why — Henry! (There is a moment's 
pause. Roddy and Clara stare at Frazee, who 
gives a quick glance from Clara to Roddy, then 
looks at Clara again; and steps quickly toward her. 
She comes to meet him, trying to recover herself 
and partly succeeding. This is a very short pause 
before she is able to add, after calling his name.) 
Why, when did you get here? (As they meet, he 
starts but she can't quite do it, and it is her swiftly 
turned cheek that he kisses. He is azvare of a 
significance in this, but recovers himself and speaks 
quickly enough.) 

Frazee. I found yesterday I could break away 
for a while. Miss — (He glances briefly toward 
Seeby.j — Miss Olds has given me the room adjoin- 
ing yours. (Crosses R.J 

Clara. (With a glance at Seebyj Oh, yes — 
(With an instant's tendency to bite her lip.) — that's 
very — convenient. This is — Mr. Roddy. (She is a 
little awkward. Roddy nods, murmuring indistinct- 
ly.) 

Frazee. (With Clara; he nods gravely) How- 
dyado. I think Captain Olds mentioned your stay- 
ing here? 

Roddy. (He speaks quickly as if he were going 
to say something more but adds only) — I am. 

Clara. (Nervously trying to be "natural" though 
she accomplishes this zvith difficulty ) I've been on 
— quite a tramp, Henry. Do you mind waiting here 
till I — dress ? (Slightest stress on "here." She feels 
she must get away quickly.) 

Frazee. All right. 

Clara. (Rather breathless in a low voice) I 
won't be very long. (E.vit up l. quickly. Shut door.) 

Roddy. (Crosses behind table. A little more at 
his ease, though still dazed, going l.) Aw — Lthink 



THE WREN 33 

I'd — ^better be freshening up — ^too. (Crossing to l.) 
I'll — I'll see you at supper, no doubt. (As he goes 
he breaks the daisy chain round his neck; part drops 
to the floor; the rest he crumples in his hand. 
Frazee notes it.) 

Frazee. Yes ; no doubt. 

('Roddy hastily picks up some of his traps l. in 
passing, and makes a quick and nervous exit 
down L. Frazee stands looking after him, 
then looks rather sharply at Seeby^ zvho seems 
^fixedly intent upon her work, though the sew- 
ing goes very slowly. Frazee turns up, then 
comes dozvn again; and moodily stirs with his 
shoe the string of daisies dropped by Roddy. 
Seeby notes this and at once conies and picks 
the flozvers up.) 

Seeby. (As she does so) I thought I'd picked 
'em all up. I guess these must have dropped from 
the daisy necklace Mrs! Frazee had round her neck. 

Frazee. No. They dropped from the daisy neck- 
lace Mr. Roddy had around his neck. 

Seeby. Oh! ' (Returns to sofa.) 

Frazee. (After a pause, looks at the canvas lean- 
ing against the zvall. He speaks zvithout looking at 
Seebyj Mr. Roddy seems to have forgotten to take 
his picture with him. (He is about to look at it, 
putting his hand upon the top.) 

Seeby. (Quietly, gently, facing front again after 
a glance at him) You — you mustn't look at it, 
please. 

Frazee. No ? 

Seeby. He doesn't like it when they're only part 
done. He likes you to look at 'em a long zvhile 
when they're finished — but not till then. He won't 
let anybody. 



34 THE WREN 

Frazee. But if my wife is with him while he's 
painting, she must 

Seeby. Yes — but nobody else. He won't let me. 
(The tremble is again almost inaudible in her voice.) 

Frazee. (Letting the canvas again recline against 
the wall without looking at it, turns from if, speaks 
thoughtfully, preoccupied) I see. Ah — I suppose 
I shouldn't know much more about it if I looked at 
it. I'm a business man ; I don't know much about 
painting — or about painters. I suppose he does very 
fine work. (Half questioning, half affirming.) 

Seeby. (Sezving quietly) No. It isn't very good. 

Frazee. (Rather puzzled) You — you know 
about painting? 

Seeby. We had two painters stay here one sum- 
mer ; you could tell they were men that always 
knew just what they were doing. And when they 
were painting, so could anybody else tell what they 
were doing. A good deal of the time you can't tell 
what Mr. Roddy's been doing, even after he's fin- 
ished. 

LIGHTS START 

Frazee. (After a pause) Then — ah — my — wife 
doesn't think he's a very good painter? (Puts chair 
L. of Seeby.j 

Seeby, (A little disturbed) I couldn't say. He 
believes he is. 

Frazee. But he's not? (An affirmative question, 
vieaning: "But you say he's not.") 

Seeby. (Gently, zvifh a slow, short shake of the 
head) He might be some day. He isn't now. 

Frazee. (l.c. Sits, observing her) But you 
think probably my wife believes he is ? (He assumes 
as light a tone as he can.) 

Seeby. (Quietly, hut a little jerkily; otherwise 
expressionless) They talk — about — Art. 



THE WREN 35 

Frazee. (Simply) What do they say about it? 

Seeby. (Thoughtfully ) Well, it doesn't amount 
to much, to listen to. 

Frazee. I suppose there isn't a great deal to do 
here in the evenings — except talk? 

Seeby. And play the piano. 

Frazee. (Frowning with the difficulty of saying 
it "naturally" ) I suppose Mrs. Frazee usually sits 
in here in the evenings? 

Seeby. Yes. Or on the porch. There's not much 
place else to go. 

Frazee. (Frowning again for the same reason) 
I suppose — ah — you and Captain Olds are here, too, 
then, most of the time. 

Seeby. (Looking at him) I am. (Very faint 
stress on "I." Looks front again; adding in a low, 
casual voice.) — And Mr. Roddy. (Adding this as 
though there might be significance in not adding it.) 

Frazee. (More briskly but with no apparent 
pointing) Oh, yes. And Mr. Roddy, of course. 

Seeby. Sometimes we walk down to the beach in 
the moonlight. 

Frazee. Uh — you m_ean you- — and Mr. Roddy 
and my wife? • (He always pauses in finite simally, 
almost imperceptibly, before the word "wife.") 

Seeby. Yes. I go — too. (This is of course a 
conversation of imder-currents ; the meanings are 
not strongly pointed, but are apparent enough.) 

Frazee. (As if lightly) And then do they talk 
about — Art ? 

Seeby. (As if absently) Yes ; and things. 

Frazee. (In a matter-of-fact tone) I see. (Get- 
ting up and speaking more briskly.) I think you 
must have a pretty good climate here. Miss Olds. 

Seeby. Yes ; she looks a different woman from 
when she came, Mr. Frazee. 

Frazee. (Going up as though to look at the sea. 



36 THE WREN 

A late afternoon light is outdoors now, a rosy 
amber) She does indeed! (This asithough quite 
heartily, but there is a hidden grimness under it.) 

Seeby. When she first came she didn't seem to 
take any interest in anything ; but now 

Frazee. (As if amusedly indulgent) But now 
she takes an interest particularly in Art, I suppose. 

Seeby. (Secretly disturbed; a little breathlessly) 
Oh, no. (She rises.) In everything. (She has not 
meant to tell him as much as she has told him.) 

Frazee. So? 

READY LIGHTS TO CHANGE 

(^RoDDY enters down l., leaving the door open. He 
has changed to another coat, white trousers, etc. 
Seeby speaks as he enters.) 

Seeby (Pointing to the canvas) You left your 
picture. ('Roddy and Frazee give each other a brief 
glance; then Roddy replies to Seeby.j 

Roddy. (With faint sarcasm, yet not ill-naturedly) 
My cluttering-up ways are painful to the New Eng- 
land mind, I know. I'll (Picking up the can- 
vas.) 

Seeby. (Hurriedly, in an undertone) Could you 
wait a minute? (She wants to say something to 
him; over to him and up l. She sees Francis com- 
ing. Roddy pauses down l., about to go out, looking 
at Seeby. Francis enters up l., speaking as he does 
so.) 

Francis. (Speaking to Seebyj Tuck it up th' 
back way. Wife's dressin' in her room ; called 
through the doo-uh (door) she d' know where he 
wants to put it in his room. 

Seeby. (To Frazee, tvho is up c.) It's about 



THE WREN 37 

your trunk. (She leaves her sewing on the table, 

R.CJ 

Frazee. (Coming down) I'll come and show 
you. 

Francis. I'll open it fuh ye, too. Be glad to. 

Frazee. (Frowning, as they go out up L.j If I 
can find the key. (They close the door.) 

LIGHTS CHANGE 

f Seeby steps tozvard Roddy ; halts — has the impulse 
to speak ; bites her lip, and is silent, troubled.) 

Roddy. What'd you want to see me about K 
What's the matter? (He is careless with his can- 
vas.) 

Seeby. Look out! Don't get paint on your 
clothes and spoil 'em! 

Roddy. Don't you think it's more important not 
to spoil my picture? 

Seeby. But you can easily make a new picture. 

Roddy. And I can't easily get new clothes ; I'm 
aware of that, unfortunately. But that isn't what 
you wanted to see me about ? 

Seeby. Well, I don't know just how to say it, 

Roddy. (A little sharply) Why? 

Seeby. (With a troubled sound like laughter) 
I'm afraid it'll make you like me worse than you've 
already been getting to — lately — Mr. Roddy. 

Roddy. (With some indulgence, yet rather im- 
patiently; putting the canvas down) Oh, what would 
I "like you worse" for ? (His manner is, in general, 
that of an adult toward a child, or inferior, who is 
sometimes amusing, but sometimes annoying.) 

Seeby. I — I know — lately — you think a good 
many things I do aren't just the place of a person 
that runs a boarding house, but (She Stops.) 



38 THE WREN 

Roddy. (Quietly) Oh, no ! What is it ? 

Seeby. Well — I wanted (Breaks off.) Mr. 

Frazee was just talking to me (Pauses.) 

Roddy. (Glancing at her) Was he? (Speaks 
casually.) 

Seeby. He's been worried about his wife. When 
she first came she wrote him pretty often ; but lately 
he hasn't heard from her at all. 

Roddy. (Surprised, frowning) Did he tell you 
that? 

Seeby. Oh, no. 

Roddy. (Lightly satirical, but as if indulgent) 
Oh, you look to see who she writes to ? 

Seeby. (Gently) Why, I carry the mail to post. 
She hasn't given me any letters for over ten days. 
I couldn't help knowing that, could I, Mr. Roddy? 

Roddy. (A little bored) Well, what of it? 

Seeby. (Swallowing ) Well, he's still uneasy 
about her, but since he got here — it isn't about her 
health. 

Roddy. (Smiling faintly) He seems to have 
taken you into his confidence, Eusebia ! 

Seeby. He didn't. He didn't know I understood 
what he was really asking me about? 

Roddy. What was it about ? 

Seeby. It was about — you — Mr. Roddy. 

Roddy. (Affecting a laugh, tossing off what she 
tells him) Oh ! 

Seeby. Yes. (She turns away from him; sits 
on sofa R.) 

Roddy. (Laughing) He must take sudden inter- 
est in people ! (Stops laughing.) Well, go on. Tell 
me what you wanted to. 

Seeby. (Having resumed her sewing) I think 
I — have. 

Roddy. What ? (Meaning "How foolish to think 
you've told me anything at all f") 



THE WREN 39 

Seeby. I think you know I have. 

Roddy. (Laughing a little uneasily) Of all the 
foolishness ! Mr. Frazee hasn't any reason to take 
any interest in nic! (He crosses l. She lights 
lights.) 

Seeby. Well — I've told you. (She has zvarned 
him and done her best.) 

Roddy. (As if about to go out r., halts at a 
thougJit) By the way — when we first came in this 
afternoon — why didn't you ineniion that Mrs. Fra- 
zee's husband was here? 

Seeby. Why didn't I tell you right away ? 

Roddy. Why didn't you tell her right away? (He 
crosses r, to her.) 

Seeby. (Thoughtful, slowly) Well — he wanted 
to make it a surprise. I was going to let him — ^but 
finally — I thought it might be too much of one. 
(After a moment.) And it was, anyhow ! 

Roddy. (Rather sharply and nervously) Why? 

Seeby. (Troubled) Why, you couldn't either of 
you manage to look — natural ! 

Roddy. (Impatiently) Oh, good gracious, what 
nonsense ! (He starts as if to go out, but again 
halts as she speaks. She has let her sewing rest on 
the sofa beside her, her hand resting on it. She 
speaks impulsively — yet with the expression of trou- 
bled reverie. She doesn't look at him.) 

Seeby. I was just thinking — I made a mistake. 

Roddy. (Smiling in rather troubled satire) Yes ; 
I think you have ! 

Seeby. I mean when I told him you wouldn't 
let anybody see your pictures before they're finished 
— except his wife. 

Roddy. (Staring at her) Oh, you told him that ? 
(He crosses r. to her.) 

Seeby. (Troubled) I don't know how I hap- 
pened to. 



40 THE WREN 

Roddy. (With some vehemence) Good gracious ! 
She sees 'em because she's Tvifh me while I'm paint- 
ing 

Seeby. Yes ! (Meaning "Indeed she is" !) 

Roddy. (Going on rapidly) And because she 
understands what I'm doing 

Seeby. Does she say so? 

Roddy. (Sharply) She does understand ! Good 
heavens, I don't know just why I seem to be explain- 
ing such things to you, Miss Olds! (With a zvor- 
ried laugh.) 

Seeby. (Rising) No. You feel it isn't my place 
for you to. 

Roddy. (Sharply; quickly) I don't mean that. 
I'm an artist ; I don't know anything about caste 
distinctions. You looked at an unfinished picture 
of mine last summer and God knows what you said 
about it I've tried to forget 4 

Seeby. (Szvallozving) Well, I didn't know that 
part of it was meant for water. 

Roddy. Don't tell me again! (Walking up and 
down as he speaks.) If I listened to what you'd say 
of my work I'd never paint any more! You don't 
know what even ignorant criticism does to any kind 
of artist! It just destroys! 

Seeby. Everything I say is ignorant? 

Roddy. About Art, yes! Look what you did 
with this room ! 

Seeby. It's wrong? 

Roddy. It's awful! 

Seeby. I did what you said. (Blurs "you.") 

Roddy. I told you to get originals. I hate repro- 
ductions. Look at that "high-boy," from Grand 
Rapids ! 

Seeby. Aren't any more old ones. Father sold 
out ours before I was born. 

Roddy. Then do without any. 



THE WREN 41 

Seeby. You said you put a high-boy there. 
Roddy. Oh, yes, I know, but I meant- 



(Crosses l. to her. She turns away, her face not 
seen.) 

(^Mrs. Freehart enters l.) 

Mrs. Freehart. Goin' look see if table's set 
right f suppah? 

Seeby. I'm coming. (Exit Mrs. Freehart, l. 
The Captain's bell is heard l., and a thumping on 
the floor with a stick.) Oh ! 

Roddy. (More kindly) That's your father wants 
to be taken up from his nap. Let me get him in his 
chair while you see to the table. I'll bring him out. 

Seeby. (Turns; her lips trembling) Thank you, 
I'll be much obliged. He likes you. Mr. Roddy. 
(Crosses to door.) 

Roddy. (Troubled) I'm afraid yon don't. I — 
I hadn't meant ever to say anything at all about the 
room 

Seeby. Yes. You never did say anything about 
it until just now, so I felt all along you — didn't like 
it. 

Roddy. Well, I needn't have said so the way I 
did just now. Sometimes I seem to have fits ; I 
know I'm queer. 

Seeby. (Looking up at him gravely) Then, 
maybe 

Roddy. (Frowning) Maybe what? 

Seeby. Maybe you zmll be — (Swallozving.) — a 
great painter some time. (Exits down r. ) 

Roddy. (Stands looking after her. Captain^s 
hell and thumping are heard off up R.j Coming, 
Cap'n! (Goes tip R.j 



42 THE WREN 

fpRANCis enters up l., with chisel and pincers in his 
hand.) 

Francis. (Crossing) After 1 had to bust the 
lock to open his trunk, he found the key in his travel- 
/n'-pants. Either he's absent-minded or he's studyin' 
'bout somethin' ! Had a nice talk with him though. 
(Bell rings and stick thumps again. Roddy exits 
up R. At the same moment Frazee enters up l.) 

Frazee. (As he comes in) Is that the bell for 
dinner ? 

Francis. (Going up to open door up l.) F' sup- 
puh? No. That's the Cap'n. Wants to be put in 
his chair an' fetched out. 

Frazee. (Going up) I see. 

('Clara enters up l. She wears a becoming, but 
quite simple evening dress, very little jewelry. 
She looks rather tense and emotional, but tries 
to conceal this.) 

Clara. (Trying to speak cheerfully, as she enters 
and closes door) Oh, you're down again, are you ? 

Frazee. (Corning near her, rather grimly) It's 
my impression you kept your door locked till you 
kfiew I was! 

Clara. (Breathless, frightened) Why, what in 
the world 

Frazee. (In low tone) Don't — act! (They 
stare at each other, she drawing away from him, as 
Roddy's voice is heard off, just outside door up L.J 

Clara. (With partially suppressed resentment, 
and some apprehension) Did you have to ride in a 
day-coach all the way up here, Henry? 

Frazee. No. 

Clara. I thought perhaps you'd had an uncom- 
fortable trip. Forgive me if I'm too stupid to under- 



THE WREN 43 

stand any other reason for your being in a temper. 

Frazee. Yes, it does seem ill-tempered of me to 
come up here and break the chains. 

Clara. "Chains?" I'm glad you do see my life 
in that light, Henry ! 

Frazee. No. I meant — daisy chains ! 

Clara. What? "Daisy chains?" (Laughing 
uncomfortably, as in derision) Is it really possible 
you mean poor Mr. Roddy ? Good gracious ! 

Frazee. (Sharply) Yes ! Even the remotest 
suspicion of such a thing is absurd, isn't it? 

Clara. (Sharply) It would be insulting, of 
course, if it weren't absurd ! 

Frazee. And your "poor Mr. Roddy" hasn't a 
thought in the world for anything but this painting. 

Clara. I didn't say that. 

Frazee. Oh, he has other thoughts? Yes, I've 
heard art people were usually involved — in "senti- 
ment !" 

Clara. Well, his "sentiment" isn't about ^ne! 

Frazee. Oh, he has one, but not about you? He 
isn't staying here on your account? 

Clara. Staying here on my account ! 

Frazee. You say he's not? 

Clara. (Seeing the way out) Staying here for 
me? Why, haven't you any eyes, Henry? (She 
begins to he relieved.) 

Frazee. Yes. 

Clara. Then you'd better put them to use. Mr. 
Roddy was here last season, too. 

Frazee. Yes. That's true. 

Clara. Then on whose account do you suppose 
he's here now? 

Frazee. What? 

Clara. Why, Eusebia Olds; certainly! 

Frazee. Oh, I see. You play only the part of 
chaperone for Miss Olds and Mr. Roddy? 



44 THE WREN 

Clara. In a way, yes. (He grunts, and they 
stare at each other.) 

WARN DINNER BELL 

Roddy. (Off, outside door up l.) Cheerio, Cap'n ! 
f Francis opens the door and Roddy^ smiling, wheels 
Captain Olds out, saying heartily.) "Thar she 
blows," Cap'n ! Grog all hands around ! 

Captain. Has he got the light a-winkin' yet ? Is 
she litf CCaptain has worn his cap until previous 
exit; now he is bareheaded.) 

Francis. (Up, looking off; it has grown ruddy 
outside, and dusk is coming) Yes, Cap'n; he's got 
her goin'. 

Captain. Wheel me out to git my look at her; 
wheel me out. ('Roddy starts to c.e. with him, paus- 
ing to explain to Frazee.J 

Roddy. It's the light-house on Porpoise Island. 
The Cap'n likes to look at it every evening. 

WARN CURTAIN 

Captain. Saved my ship once, that light did. 
'Cept'n' when my stroke come I ain't missed lookin' 
at her from out yon a night in eighteen year, 'less 
there was fog. ^Roddy wheels him out on the 
veranda.) I sh'd fear I'd have some bad luck if I 
missed her. 

Francis, (On the veranda, pointing off l.) There 
she is a-winkin', Cap'n. 

Captain. Hee-uh ! Mr. Frazee, you won't see 
no such sights as this in the city. Come hee-uh an' 
take a look at her. CFrazee goes up. Captain 
points off L., explaining.) That's seven full sea-mile 
off shore. 

Francis. Yes, she be! ^Roddy, binocular hnsi- 



THE WREN 45 

ness.) If you'd look over beyond, Mr. Frazee, you 
kin see Big Goat with you eye naked. 

Captain. (Testily) Mr. Frazee don't care about 
seein' Big Goat. 

Francis. Yes, he does, too ; you see, Mr. Frazee, 
Big Goat's the reef Cap'n Olds stuck his last ship 
on when he was bringing her in. 

Captain. I got her off, didn't I? 

Francis. (Innocently) Yes, you and two, three 
government tugs got her off nice. (Urging Frazee. j 
Here, Mr. Frazee 

Captain. (Crossly) Mr. Frazee don't take no 
interest in reefs. 

Francis. Why, everybody does in that un, 'count 
o' the time you hung up there. First step over here, 
Mr. Frazee, and you can see it ; lemme show you, 
Mr. Frazee. (He moves to r. with Frazee, leaving 
the Captain grumhling and muttering. Roddy, 
after a glance at Frazee, comes quickly down to 
Clara, j 

Captain. Damn ninny! 

Frazee. The hght-house is built on rather a small 
rock, isn't it ? Looks lonely. 

Francis. 'Tis a mite unsociable out there. 

Roddy. (Near Claraj Yes ; "seven full sea-mile 
off shore," it is — a "mite." 

Frazee. "Seven full sea-miles?" I suppose 
you've been out there often, Mr. Roddy? 

Roddy. Oh, yes ; quite often. 

Captain. Him? ¥/hy, him and Mrs. Frazee, 
they took and pulled all the v/ay out there in a row- 
boat, only last Sunday. 

Frazee. Only last Sunday ! 

Clara. Oh, yes, and we had a lovely time ; it's 
one of Mr. Roddy's favorite places, isn't it? 

Roddy. (Puzzled) Yes, indeed. 

BELL READY 



46 THE WREN 

Clara. How many times have you been there 
with Miss Olds, Mr. Roddy? 

Roddy. (Puzzled) Why — I don't remember ! 

Clara. (Archly) Queer, your forgetting that, 
isn't it? 

Frazee. Why, don't you know how many times 
you've been there with Miss Olds? 

Roddy. What ? (Puzzlement.) 

Clara. I won't have him teased, Henry. Why, 
he can't even guess how many times, can you, Mr. 
Roddy? 

Captain. Sh'd think not. How could he remem- 
ber all 't happened 'way last summer? ('Frazee 
gives them a contemptuous glance and goes up.) 

BELL 

Roddy. (To ClaraJ What's it about ? What 

Clara. Don't you see? 

Roddy. Why, no. 

Clara. Just be nice to Miss Olds while he's here. 

Roddy. Be nice to Miss Olds ! 

Clara. Yes ; you like her — you do like her 

Roddy. Why, certainly, I like her, but, what's 
that got to do with — I'll never give you up ! 

Clara. Of course not. 

BELL (Again R.j 

fSsEBY enters wearing a becoming zvhite dress.) 

Seeby. Didn't you hear the bell for supper? 

Clara, Why, Miss Olds ! You've got a new 
gown! We were all just talking about you! (To 
Frazee and generally.) Doesn't she look exquisite ? 
Doesn't she look pretty? (Her glance goes to 
Roddy on the last word.) 



THE WREN 47 

Roddy. (Soineiahat casually and surprised) Why, 
yes, she does. {More ivarmly.) Why, she does, in- 
deed! Why, Eusebia, yon look — you look charm- 
ing! You look perfecdy beautiful! 

Seeby. (Stunned) What? (She stands, frosen.) 

Clara. (With a somewhat frigid look at RoddyJ 
Indeed she does — in a way ! 

Captain. Bring your wife in t' the dining room, 
Mr. Frazee. The cook gits mad if we keep her 
vittles waitin'. 

(Ad lib nmrinnr from Francis and Captain. Exit 
Captain, Francis, Mr. and Mrs. Frazee.J 

RoDDY'. You do look beautiful, Seeby. (She 
almost weeps; he is dismayed.) Why, what's the 
matter? Don't a^ou like me to say you look beauti- 
ful ? 

Seeby. Yes. I'm much obliged. 

(The Act Drop descends as they go into the dining 
room.) 

CURTAIN 



ACT II 

Scene: The same scene. The two table lamps are 
lit, hut are shielded inside the glass shades with 
silk that gives them only a warm gold-brown 
luster, inoffensive to a sensitive eye; and the 
light of the room, is cheerful, but not violently 
so. Outdoors it is moonlight, and the sea glim- 
mers. Roddy's canvas has been removed. 

Discovered : Frazee stands on the veranda, look- 
ing off, a cigar in his fingers. Clara sits l. of 
table L.c. with a book that she does not read; 
she is rather tensely looking at her husband, 
zvhose back is toivard her. Captain is in his 
chair by sofa and table r.c, smoking the cigar 
Frazee has given him. 

Captain. (To Clara and the world in general) 
Yes, sir ; tliey's twenty-eight diffunt articles — con- 
diments you might call 'em — goes in a curry ; and 
you can't git no good curry 'cep'n jest one place on 
the — well, on the globe, as you might call it — an' 
that's BCi^bay. As you say, though, Mrs. Frazee, 
that strawb'ry short-cake Mrs. Freehart cooked us 
this evenin', it was a right appetizin' dish — if a body 
didn't eat too much of it, like / done, doggone me! 
fSwallozvs distastefully ; turns his head to indicate 
he is speaking to back.) Is the light a-winkin' good, 
Mr. Frazee? 

48 




"The Wren" 



See 'page 49 



THE WREN • 49 

Frazee. {Not turning) Yes. Very clear. Ah 
— I was looking at some people down on the beach — 
only two of 'em, in fact — walking by the surf in the 
moonlight 

Captain. You can see better with this glass. 
(There is an old pair of long binoculars on the table 
near the Captain, r.c.j 

Frazee. (Coming dozvn) I'll try it. (The mo- 
ment he turns, Clara affects to read her book; he 
glances sharply at her as he comes down; takes the 
glass and returns to the veranda.) 

Captain. (Speaking as Frazee goes up) Evenin' 
like this, guess ye wouldn't think how that sea can 
make in wickid weathuh ! 

Clara. (Her book dozvn again) This place must 
be desolate in Winter. 

Captain. No ; it's nice. Seeby teaches school, 
then, an' I git a good deal more libutty — but I bet 
them children she teaches don't ; I guess them chil- 
dren walk the chalk ; pore things. No ; winter's nice, 
natives have the place to 'rselves in the winter — no 
summer people. (Going on contentedly.) Of course, 
as you say, I don't mean anything personal, as you 
might call it. 

^Mrs. Freehart and Francis enter from veranda, 
from R., passing Frazee c.e., and come down. 
Mrs. Freehart wears a plain hat and jacket in 
addition to the clothes worn in Act I, and no 
apron. Francis is dressed as in Act I, zvith the 
addition of a shabby old Norfolk jacket — a relic 
from some hoarder of a past season — and an 
old Derby hat; he has removed his overalls, 
wearing old trousers, too large for him and 
extremely bagged at the knees. He has a dark 
cigar, which he removes from his mouth as he 
enters. He carries a mailed copy of the Boston 



50 THE \\'REN 

Transcript, which he hands to Captain. Mrs. 
Freehart has a package under her arm; she 
crosses down, not speaking, to door dozvn R.j 

Francis. (As he hands the paper to Captain^ 
Evenin' mail's in. Got it as we come from our walk. 
(Goes on, following Mrs. Freehart. j 

Captain. (Unfolding the paper) Thank ye, 
Francis. Any news n the village? 

Francis. (Casually, going r., speaks ivithout ex- 
pression) Yes ; Will Thompson's complain' he's 
lost his wife again. Says he hears she's went for 
a trip to Boston with some railroad man. 

(Exit Francis and Mrs. Freehart down r. Cap- 
tain looks after them. Shut door.) 

Captain. Mighty reg'lar couple, Francis and 
Mrs. Freehart. 

Clara. (Looking at Frazeej Are they? 

Captain. Francis been hopin' to marry her ever 
sense her husban' died. Neighbors say Francis was 
there before the pall-bearers. Fact is, he was askin' 
her all time her husban' laid sick. (This has arrested 
Frazee's attention. He lowers the binoculars, turn- 
ing his head toward Captain.) 

Frazee. Is that common — in these parts? (He 
glances at his wife, who knoivs that he does so, 
though she seems to read.) 

Captain. Same here as anywhere, I guess. City 
or country, I guess it's same ; some man's wife gits 
the repitation bein' a good cook, they'll be plenty 
after her. (Then at a supposed thought he suddenly 
anticipates on the part of his listeners.) Oh, they're 
moral! (He pronounces "Morr-ell.") 

Frazee. (With no humor apparent, hut with an 
underlying grimness) Francis seemed moral to me. 



THE WREN 51 

(Glancing at ClaraJ I had quite a talk with him 
this afternoon while he was opening my trunl^. 

Captain. (Nodding) Yes, he's a talker. He 
an' Mrs. Freehart always ("allwis") take same walk, 
evenin's. They go down t' th' interubbin' Pownh 
House. 

Frazee. They do ! I should think lovers would 
walk by the sea — hke those two down yonder. 

Captain. No, ye see the folks that make a livin' 
by the ocean, it's more or less a place o' business. 
Francis, he lobsters, winters. So when he feels ro- 
a-man-tic, he an Miz Freehart walk over to the 
Powah House an' look at the masheeniry. 

Frazee. (The glasses to his eyes) Those two 
on the beach — I beHeve they're coming up this way. 
Oh — they look rather like your daughter and Mr. 
Roddy. (He turns down, leaving the glasses on a 
chair.) 

Captain. Mebbe so ; mebbe so ! 

Frazee. You say there's no good curry except 
at Bombay? (Behind table. Clara looks at him; 
then at the binoculars on the chair by the door; 
Frazee has hung them over the chair back by a 
strap attached to them. As Frazee, his back to her, 
and the Captain continue talking, Clara rises sud- 
denly — her tensity has increased upon Frazee''s 
mention of Seeby and Roddy — and quickly and 
silently she goes up, takes the binoculars with a quick 
motion, steps out on the veranda and looks out to 
off L., where Frazee has been looking. Meanzvhile, 
Frazee and the Captain are continuing.) 

Captain, No, sir! I've tried curries in Chinee 
ports, too. They call 'em curries, but they ain't — 
not 'cep'n in Bombay. 

Frazee. I suppose you've seen some queer 
weather before you left the sea, Captain Olds. 

Captain. Fve seen seven waterspouts all the 



52 THE WREN 

same time, in the Indian Ocean, Hangin' from the 
sky an' reachin' clean up from the water, they was ; 
all seven of 'em. 

Clara. Oh, no. They're not far ofif now. Be- 
sides, I heard him ask her to walk with him, just 
after supper. (To Frazee.^ Didn't you ? 

Frazee. Yes, I heard him, I even heard you 
suggesting it yourself. (Thoughtfully.) I wonder 
why? (Smiling skeptically.) 

Clara. Why? (Then, casually.) I just thought 
they might like to. They often go for a walk after 
supper. (Strolls 'L., sits l. of table.) 

Frazee. (As if casually) Mr. Roddy and Miss 
Olds do ? Well, I only wondered (Pauses.) 

Clara. (Quietly) You wondered what? 

Frazee. I only wondered if you meant to sug- 
gest that they stay this long. 

Clara. (Somewhat annoyed, tries to speak light- 
ly) Why, what difference does that make? 

Frazee. None at all ? (She looks at him; he 
seems to take the look for answer, and speaks sat- 
urninely.) No, I suppose not. 

Captain. He's good company, Mr. Roddy, when 
he feels like it. (Begins to read The Transcript.) 

Frazee. (To Clara, as if casually) Do you 
find him so, Clara? (Crosses l. to her.) 

Clara. (Setting the binoculars on table l.c, as 
she sits) Oh, yes. He's rather moody sometimes. 
(Her indifference is the least bit overdone.) 

Frazee. (Thoughtfully) I should imagine so. 
(He looks at her as she picks up her book again. 
He still has his cigar, and places it in his mouth, then 
removes it as he speaks.) I suppose you've been 
keeping up your music, since you've been here? 

Clara. (Knoiving what he means) Oh, a little. 

Frazee. (As if musingly) Music — ^and art. Out 



THE WREN 53 

of my line, I'm afraid, but they make quite a com- 
bination. 

Clara. (Trying to be cool and being really con- 
temptuous) Combination? Why music is art, of 
course. 

Frazee. Is it ? I was thinking ; I suppose Mr. 
Roddy appreciates your music — and you — well, his 
painting must give you a great deal of pleasure. 

Clara. No. He doesn't show his pictures. 

Frazee. Not to anybody? 

Clara. Not that I know of. 

Frazee. (After a pause) It's odd, Clara — you 
haven't asked me how long I'll be able to stay. 
(This dialogue is carried on quietly; the Captain 
doesn't hear it, though he could if he were not inter- 
ested in his paper.) 

Clara. (Looking up nervously) Oh, I supposed, 
of course, you 

Frazee. (Interrupting) I was going to suggest 
you'd get ready to go home with me to-morrow. 

Clara. (She looks at him, too dismayed to speak 
at once. Then her tone is incredulous) To-mor- 
row ! Why — no — I couldn't do that. 

Frazee. (Studying her) You couldn't. (Not 
interrogative.) 

Clara. (Trying to speak simply) Why, for one 
thing, I couldn't get ready. For another — why, this 
place is doing me good. I hadn't thought of going. 
Do you have to go to-morrow ? 

Frazee. I think perhaps we'll both go. 

Clara. (Breathless, but motionless) What for? 
Why, / can't go ! 

Frazee. Can't you? (He is quietly almost omin- 
ous. She is unable to continue — is afraid that if she 
tries to do so she may show too much agitation. 
She rises suddenly and goes up part ivay.) 

Captain. (Reading his paper) British Steam- 



54 THE WREN 

ship "Ancaster," out of Algiers bound f Portland, 
four days late 'count o' head winds ; schooner *'Car- 
rie" o' Gloucester took three thousand pounds o' 
mackerel in a couple day's houlin' ; Ferd'nand, ex- 
King o' Bulgaria, reported dead o' menengeetis. 
(The first two items are read with somewhat more 
stress than the last, though all of the speech is near 
a monotone.) 

Frazee. (In a low, but distinct voice, going up 
to Clara) I think you can be ready. (The stress 
is on "think") 

Clara. (Beginning hastily) Henry, I have my 

own (He cuts her off there; "my oivn plans," 

she means to say.) 

Frazee. I think we won't talk about it. (Stress 
on "talk.") 

Clara. (Hastily) But please listen. I 

Frazee. (Shakes his head) No. (He goes out 
to veranda. She follows, making a sound, trying to 
speak. He shakes his head again, looks ojf i.., 
checks her with a slight gesture. A ripple of silvery 
laughter is heard off up l. Captain looks up, low- 
ering his paper.) 

Captain. Why, that's Seeby. I ain't heard her 
laugh like that sense her buthday! ("Birthday." 
The laughter is heard again; Captain smiles.) Yes, 
sir, that Mr. Roddy, he can be good company, when 
he's a mind to ! 

('Clara is up c, but not on the veranda; Frazee 
is. She wishes to make an appeal to him, though 
she does not know just how, and fears he will 
refuse. He means to avoid the appeal.) 

Seeby. (Outside, cheerfully) I did enjoy it, 
thanks ! (She comes in almost happily; a girl almost 
diffivcnt from the Seeby zve have seen in Act I. 



THE WREN 55 

She has become — just this moment — almost radiant; 
yet she is not wholly carefree or child-like. She is 
happy, but a ghost of care ""still sits on the crupper' 
and wistfulness still lingers in her voice and laugh- 
ter. She has taken off her hat just as she enters, 
and if swings from her hand by a ribbon. Roddy 
follows her on and doivn. Roddy down l. As she 
comes in.) It's the most beautiful night! (Then 
quickly, and zvith a hint of implication.) Mrs. 
Frazee, you ought to take your husband down to the 
beach to show him. f Clara gives her a liar dish 
glance. Frazee moves off l. on veranda, out of 
sight. Clara follozvs him tentatively, wishing to 
appeal to him. She remains in sight up c.e. Mean- 
while Seeby goes on down to Captain.j Father — 
(She kisses him upon the cheek.) — it's after your 
bedtime ; it's after nine o'clock. 

Captain. (Peevishly) Na — I doe' want to. I 
want to set up see all what's goin' on ! 

Seeby. When did you ever see anything happen 
in this neighborhood after nine o'clock ? 

Captain. (Fretfully) Then what you all so 
high-jinksed-up about? I heard ye laughin' ! 

Seeby. (Suddenly dreamy) Oh, because it's such 
a beautiful evening. 

Captain. (Frowning) Is that somethin' to 
laugh about? CSeeby doesn't hear him; she is look- 
ing straight out, absently. He is cross, continuing.) 
What's mattuh 'th you? 

Roddy. (Seriously, and ivith something of her 
manner) It is a pleasant evening, Cap'n. ^Clara, 
looking anxiously off l.^ is struck by his tone and 
turns her head quickly to stare at Roddy.j 

Seeby\ I don't believe there's been a night like 
this since the — the end of August — last year. 

Roddy, (Casually) August, last year — Oh, yes 



56 THE WREN 

— just before I left; I remember there was a moon 
then. 

Seeby. (With both a faint pathos and some kept- 
to-herself satire; there had been so much of that last 
August moon that she remembers and he has for- 
gotten) Yes. 

Roddy. Yes — it ivas lovely then. The moon's 
got that same elfin look again to-night. (^Captain 
straightens up his Transcript at this, having no inter- 
est in elfin moons, and reads.) 

Seeby. (Simply, accepting Roddy as an author- 
ity) Is that what it was ? ('Seeby crosses to Roddy .j 

Roddy. (Seriously) Yes — and so were you elfin 
in the moonshine. Didn't you know it? 

Seeby. (Seriously) Why, no. (She moves a 
little away.) I — remember your saying so — last year. 

Roddy. Don't you like my saying it ? 

Seeby. (Apologetically) Well — it doesn't seem 
— appropriate. 

Roddy. Didn't you have any ancestors in Salem ? 

Seeby. Yes, we did. 

Roddy. I think one of them must have been a 
witch. 

Seeby. No, my ancestors helped to massacre 'em. 
We don't like witches. (She is thinking of Clara. j 

Roddy. My ! What a little school teacher you 
really are ! 

Seeby. Oh, no. That's only in the winter. 
("Roddy laughs, she goes on.) I'd like ever so much 
to be elfin, of course. 

Roddy. Well, you were — with the moonshine on 
you. 

Seeby. (Dreamily) Oh, do you think so? 

Captain. Wa'n't they no mosquitoes? 

Roddy. We didn't mind them. (Turning seri- 
ously to Seeby. j Did we? (A question.) 

Seeby. . ( Absently ) Oh, no. (She sits l. of 



THE WREN 57 

table. Up c, Clara bites her lips, displeased by 
both of them. She has virtually told Roddy to seem 
a lover, but when she sees it, she finds it painful. 
But she must make her husband listen, if she can; 
she moves off to l. on veranda, not quite out of 
sight.) 

Captain. (Musing in an old man's tone) Well. 
the ocean looks nice sometimes. As if it never 
would wish to do anything mean to ye ! But it's 
deep, yessir. 

Roddy. (Smiling) Looks innocent enough, to- 
night. Is it deep out yonder? 

Captain. Plenty water there, yessir. (Reads.) 

Roddy. (Thoughtfully, earnestly, turning to 

SeebyJ I wish I were really sure (Crosses to 

L. of table.) 

Seeby. What? (Meaning, "What about r) 

Roddy. That you do forgive me — for what I 
said about — about this room. 

Seeby. (Swallozving, but speaking as to one who 
would be forgiven anything) Why — of course I do. 
CClara glances sharply at them again and disap- 
pears to off L.j 

Roddy. It's hot bad. I just had a fxt of "silly 
temperament" — or some such rot. I'm nothing but 
moods — You know how I am 

Seeby. (Thoughtfully) Yes; I know how you 
are. 

Roddy. (A little disturbed and made "moody" 
by this) Lord ! Sometimes I think you do. (He 
leans forward, frowning gloomily.) 

Seeby. People that aren't doing what they want 
to — they nearly always get moody. 

Roddy. (Rather curtly) What is it I want to do, 
that I'm not doing ? 

Seeby. Why, you're not painting the way you 
want to. 



S8 THE WREN 

Roddy. (Stung, jumping up) Oh, damn! 

Seeby. (Going on) But you want to believe that 
you are, and that keeps you bothered. You ought 
to beHeve that you're not, and then you'd try and 
find out what's the matter. 

Roddy. (Breathing hard) So you're an Art 
critic ! 

Seeby. (Stubbornly) No; but I've seen other 
people that were moody. It was because they weren't 
doing what they wanted to most ; and I guess what 
you want most is to be a good painter, isn't it? 

Roddy. (With a short laugh) I see ! 

Seeby. And this afternoon, when you — when you 
said that, I guess you were worse bothered than 
usual. 

Roddy. About my pictures? 

Seeby. (Smiling faintly) Well, maybe some 
about Mr. Frazee's coming. 

Roddy. (A little startled) Never mind that, 
please I 

Seeby. (Smiling) Oh! (Meaning "What star- 
tled you?") 

Roddy. (Half laughing at himself, ruefully) 
Well, there I go snapping at you again. I don't 
mean to, because — well — I'd rather keep you liking 
me, if I could. (With a quick glance up c. Then 
he comes and sits beside her, on piano stool; speaks 
gently.) I haven't made you dislike me, have I, 
Eusebia? (This is a sudden reversion to his posture 
of "interest" in her. She looks at him gravely, 
knoiving that he too well knows better; his glance 
falls from hers. She smiles painfully. Ready, Gui- 
tar.) I 

Seeby. No. 

Roddy. (In a lover's voice) Are you sure? (She 
slowly inclines her head.) Eusebia, could you prom- 
ise to like me always— in spite of my moods ? 



THE WREN 59 

Seeby. (She is startled by this, but does not 
move, except to look at him. Her voice is very 
small and plaintive.) Did you mean that? To ask 
me — to like you, always ? 

Roddy. (He has said more than he intended to, 
but has to go on) Yes, of course. Will you ? 

Seeby. (Swallowing) Why, yes — I will. (Her 
eyes shine. She looks at him, smiles waveringly ; it 
is as though he had "proposed" and she had "ac- 
cepted him." Roddy takes her hand for a moment. 
She gives it quickly.) 

Captain. (Reading) Many vess-sells held up 
'count o' dense fogs. 

Seeby. (Rises, her face illumined; she is smiling 
and "breathless," goes to Captain^ Father, it's 
long past time. 

Captain. (Stubbornly reading his paper and not 
looking up) Past time for what? 

Seeby. For Francis and me to get you to bed. 
(Her voice now sounds happy.) 

Captain. (Reading hard) No 'tain't. I got to 
read my paper, ain't I? 

Seeby. (Shaking her head) Not any later. 
You're going. 

Captain. (Affecting great interest) Listen ! It 
says: "Atlantic Coast weathuh for the next four 
days is expected to continue mild, with winds sou'- 
east " 

Seeby. (Ringing the bell on his chair and then 
going to door down r. afid opening it) Francis! 
(As she opens the door, sound of a guitar is heard 
off R. She calls again.) Francis! (The guitar 
stops, she returns to Captain''s chair and begins to 
propel him. to up r.) Gave you extra time to-night 
— lots of it! ^Francis, eating something bulky — 
just zvhat is not revealed — enters r. and goes to up 
R., Opening the door. Clara comes slozvly info vieiv 



6o THE WREN 

on veranda up c, looking at Roddy. He is thought- 
ful, disturbed in mind.) 

Captain. (During this, peevish) 'I Gorry ! It's 
mean ! Yes, 'tis mean ! You take a man 't's handled 
rough crews o' sailormen — made 'em hop an' shiver 
if he 's much as cleared 'is throat — an' then got to be 
ordered around like this 

Seeby. (Cheerfully and smiling) Now, now ! 
Do I swear at 370U the way you did at your crews? 
I vjill, though, if I've got to ! 

Captain. (As she prepares to wheel him away) 
You'll git a repitation ; ye will. Neighbors talk 
'bout the way I got to walk the chalk ; an' you'll 
never git married. 

Seeby. (Quietly, hut as if determined) I'll show 
you! (Taking his paper under her arm.) 

Captain. Wunt nubbudy ask you. It's mighty 
easy to git to be an old maid in this commun'ty ! 

Seeby. You ought to 've thought of that before 
you had me born here? (Takes paper.) 

Captain. I wun't go to bed ! 

Seeby. Now, Francis and I'll have you in, in a 
jiffy. (Hurriedly, to Roddy, j I'll come back soon's 
I can ! (She smiles as she turns her head from him.) 

Captain. (As she wheels him^ off up R.) Yes, 
sir, had eight children born to me an' you had to be 

the only one to (^Francis follows, closing the 

door after them.) 

('Roddy turns and looks at Clara. She would he 
greatly agitated if she did not "keep tight hold 
on herself." She comes dozvn a little way, but 
throughout the scene she is contimially wary of 
her husband's potential presence. She sees that 
she knows where he is, all the time. The dia- 
logue now has an air of being hurried and under 
cover, in spite of the feeling shown.) 



THE WREN 6i 

Clara. (With a slight motion to off up l. She 
stops to decide on words) Hugh, what was all that 
about that girl's "forgiving" you? 

Roddy. Oh, I'd abused this room to her. I was 
sorry. 

Clara. Yes, you sounded so. 

Roddy. Why, you don't mind that, do you? I 
thought you zvanted me to be as nice to her as I 



Clara. I did ! I wanted you to seem to like her. 

Roddy. (Innocently, debating it) And, of course, 
that's all right; I do like her. 

Clara. But you needn't make her think she 
ozvns you, need you? Did you hear her tell me to 
take my husband and show him! Why, she 
thinks 



Roddy. Well, I didn't realize 

Clara. I didn't mean for you to walk hours with 
her in the moonlight ! 

Roddy. But, my dear, you made me. You said 
so before her — "Don't you and Miss Olds want to 
go for a stroll ?" I'd have had to be rude to her if I 
declined. You — you've done it all. 

Clara. You could have come back here long be- 
fore you did. 

Roddy. I suppose so ; I didn't know 

Clara. Let's don't waste any more time talking 
about Miss Olds, Hugh. It is wasted, because my 
husband's absolutely stubborn about not believing 
what he doesn't want to ! 

Roddy. He is? 

Clara. He doesn't believe what / wanted hnn to, 
about you and Miss Olds, and oh ! this might be our 
last evening, Hugh ! 

Roddy. What ! 

Clara. Hugh — he says he's going to make me 
leave with him — to-morrow. 



62 THE WREN 

Roddy. (Badly flustered by this) Why, good 
gracious, that can't be ! 

Clara. He won't listen to me at all. 

Roddy. Why, does he believe I'm in love with 



you 



Clara. We were queer this afternoon — those 
daisy chains — and he caught me looking at you a lit- 
tle while ago with the glasses. 

Roddy. But what does he sayf 

Clara. (Hurriedly, brokenly) Nothing — he, 
won't say anything — just says we've got to go. 

Roddy. But you mustn't! 

Clara. No, I mustn't! 

Roddy. Why, / can't let you go ! 

Clara. No. And / can't ! (Coming nearer him.) 
Oh, Hugh, if ihis should be the last together, be 
sweet to me ! 

Roddy. My dear! Oh 

Clara. (Despairingly) Hugh, you've never said 
it. Are 3'-ou in love with me? 

Roddy. I haven't said it? You know what I've 
felt. 

Clara, If I face him out — and — break with him 
— would you want m_e? (A very short break — all 
pauses are very short here. Then she finishes quick- 
ly.) For always? 

Roddy. ( Swalloiving ) Give me the chance ! (He 
then stands frozvning, in thought.) 

Clara. (At sound up r.) Be careful ! (She first 
moves a hurried step back, to glance to off l., then, 
as Seeby's voice is heard off r., looks that ivay and 
goes to the piano, turning over some music.) 

Seeby. (Cheerily, off up r. j And don't wake up, 
father! (She comes in, door R., calling hack to r., 
before she closes it.) Don't wake up when I come 
with your medicine at twelve. (Laughing.) Just 
open your mouth and one eye, the way you did last 



THE WREN 63 

night. Good-night, dearie ! (^Captain's voice is 
heard, peevishly: "C night, y' night!" She closes the 
door, smiling.) I've let F-rancis stay and read the 
weather reports of the zvliole United States to him ! 
(She doesn't notice Clara, but speaks to Roddy; 
she carries an old rolled chart; comes to table r.c. 
with it. He stands near the table.) You were won- 
dering how deep the water is out there. Father said 
to show you his chart of the coast here. (Unfold- 
ing it on the table.) You can see all the soundings ; 
they're marked in fathoms. A fathom is six feet. 
but 

Clara. (Interrupting, as she selects some sheets 
of music) I've found that ^'Tristan and Isolde" 
passage you spoke of. (Sitting at the piano.) Would 

you like me to (She touches a chord softly; 

stops; studying the music.) 

Seeby. Father said this chart was the very best 
one made. ('Roddy stands frozvning; Clara turns 
her head.) 

Clara. Would you care for this ? ('Roddy seems 
to wake up, partially; and turns his head to look at 
her. Seeby looks at him, at Clara, hack at him 
again.) 

Roddy. (Staring front, preoccupied) Would I 

care for (Unconsciously repeating. Music 

duet.) 

Seeby. (Seeming pusded, a little plaintive) 
Don't you want to see how deep the water is ? 

Roddy. (Unconscious of her, wakes up, finishes 
to Clara, who is still looking at him) Of course — 
of course I care for it ! (Crosses l. j 

(^Clara begins to play, as Roddy com.es to her. 
Seeby watches them, her hands unconsciously 
and slowly rolling up the chart.) 



64 THE WREN 

Seeby. (Wistful, speaking of the chart) 

Father thought you'd like to (Emphasises 

^'father" a little.) 

(^ Clara plays a part of the "Liebestod" brilliantly; 
Roddy stands wrapt; Seeby tvatches them 
steadily, her hands still moving sloivly upon the 
chart.) 

Clara. (Softh, as she concludes) Did you like 
it? 

Roddy. (Huskily) "Like" it ! Yes ! 

Seeby. (Still looking at them) I don't think / 
did — much. It's too — it's too — well, I don't think 
a great deal of it. 

fCLARA glances slowly in Seeby^s direction, but 
doesn't seem to see her, or to hear her; she plays 
some chords softly. Roddy looks at her. Fran- 
cis is heard off up n.) 

Francis. G'night, Cap'n. (He begins to hum 
"I could not chide thee, chide thee, Marguerite" ; 
conies on up r,^ closing the door.) Well, he ought 
know 'nuff 'bout the weathuh to last him till t'morra ! 
(Goes to door r., softly humming : "But oh, the 
song that broke my heart," as he exits, down r. 
Seeby's eyes have grown larger; she has an idea 
As he disappears she starts, and then hurries after 
him.) 

Seeby. (Calling after him) Francis! — Oh, 
Francis ! (Goes out hurriedly down R.j 

Roddy. Could you play that once more, you did 
this afternoon? (She plays the love theme improvi- 
sation looking up at him; he looking down at her. 
He bends closer, his look eloquent.) 

Clara. (As she plays) Do you hear me saying 
it? 



THE WREN 73 

the young people begin to come, later on — and they 
say they make piano records now you could hardly 
tell the difference. I was thinking maybe you 
wouldn't mind her leaving so much if I bought — 
if I bought a 

Roddy. (Explosively) A phonograph! Murder! 

Seeby. You wouldn't like it? 

Roddy. Do you suppose it's only her music that 
I'd miss? 

Seeby. (Not slowly, hut with a lip that begins 
to tzvitch) It wouldn't be just her music? 

Roddy. Oh, dear, no! 

Seeby. You'd miss her, herself. Then it wasn't 
true you meant it? 

Roddy. (His "nerves" exasperated) Meant 
what? (Turns to her.) 

Seeby. You said, "Will you like me — always — " 

Roddy. Oh, Eusebia, what if I did? (Crosses 
down L.) 

Seeby. Oh ! (This is only a little, quick sound. 
Abruptly she sits, facing front, but with her head 
bent so far over that her face is almost lost to view. 
She begins to cry silently in a childlike way; she 
doesn't use a handkerchief, but rubs her eyes with 
the heel of her clenched right hand, like a child.) 

Roddy. (Irritated, upset and yet sorry) Oh, my 
goodness, don't cry! Don't! Don't! (He comes 
to her hurriedly.) Why, of course, I mean it. (He 
puts his hand on her shoulder.) Certainly, I did! 
Why wouldn't I want you to like me always ? 

Seeby. (She looks up, tearful, but smiling, to 
hear him, say it; and she speaks naively) Why, I 
thought you were going to take it back ! 

Roddy. (Still trying to be kind — he takes her 
hand — but frowning that she makes so much of it) 
No, no ! 

Seeby. I understand it ; of course you'd miss her, 



74 THE WREN 

herself. She's been with you so much — and she 
likes you so — I really thought it was a good thing 
her husband did come 

Roddy. Hush! (His attention is caught by a 
voice off L. He stands with his hand unconsciously 
still grasping hers; she is still seated.) 

Clara. (Off, with sharp determination) I tell 
you I'm not — going! (She enters swiftly, e., and 
for an instant is unaware of Seeby and Roddy, he- 
cause she is intent upon her assertion, calling loudly 
and determinedly hack and upward as to Frazee 
upstairs. She is seen in the opened doorway, the 
glass door knoh still in her hand.) I'm — not going! 
(Then she szvings the door shut, angrily, and turns 
to Roddy, her voice loud and agitated.) Hugh, 

you'll have to (She checks herself abruptly, 

seeing how close he stands to Seeby, and that the 
latter still retains his hand. Clara is amazed.) 

Why fRoDDY moves toward her, dropping 

Seeby^s hand; he is scarcely conscious of this. 
Seeby rises.) 

Roddy, What is it? 

Clara. (Her hand to her breast) I didn't mean 
to interrupt anything. 

Roddy. You didn't, 

Seeby. (Coming near him) Oh, no. (Gently, 
rather quickly, almost in a whisper, with a faint 
smile.) You want to say good-bye to her, don't you. 
(Not interrogative.) I know. It's all right. (She 
goes quickly up and off, c.e.J 

Clara, (Breathing fast) That's pleasant! 

Roddy, I don't see 

Clara, (With a short, desperate half laugh) 1 
come to you in the greatest crisis of my life — when 
my husband is — brutal — ^and I find you holding 
somebody else's hand! (This dialogue throughout 
is hurried.) 



THE WREN 75 

Roddy. / couldn't help it! 

Clara. No ! They never can ! 

Roddy. She's taken some things I said too seri- 
ously. I suppose in the country they put all kinds 
of significance to things ive say and don't mean any- 
thing by at all. I didn't realize that. 

Clara. So, to explain it. you had to hold her 
hand! (Checking him as he quickly seems to pro- 
test.) Never mind ! If you say you didn't mean 
what you said to her 

Roddy. (Interrupting sharply) I didn't as she 
took it. 

Clara. Then you'd better make that plain to her, 
hadn't you ? 

Roddy. I suppose so. (Affirmatively.) 

Clara. It will be easy for you — if you did mean 
what you said to me! (With a hint of bitterness. ) 

Roddy, (Reproachfully gentle) Don't taunt me, 
Clara. 

Clara. Hugh, if I stay it means a break with my 
husband. That's what it means! You understand? 

Roddy. (Swallowing) I only ask you to give 
me the chance. 

Clara. Then, when Miss Olds knows that, it 
ought to settle her ideas of what you meant about 
her. 

Roddy. (Frowning, faintly disturbed) Yes. 

Clara. And you want me? 

Roddy. Of course. 

Clara. (Huskily, quickly. She clings to him for 
one instant; he is passive in this and it is over too 
quickly for him to think whether or not he should 
kiss her. She immediately runs up to c.e., calling) 
Miss Olds ! Miss Olds ! Come in please. (She 
comes quickly back down to Roddy, but speaks ex- 
citedly and amusedly to Seeby, who comes in c.e.J 



'je THE WREN 

You needn't be tactful any longer, Miss Olds. I'm 
not saying good-bye to Mr. Roddy. 

Seeby. You're not? 

Roddy. Eusebia 

Seeby. (Looking at him quickly, smiling) Yes? 

Roddy. I — well it's difficult how to put it — 
but 

Clara. fL.c. Interrupting) It's not difficult; 
it's very simple. I'm not going away with my hus- 
band to-morrow, Miss Olds. (Her back is to door 
up L.) 

fpRAZEE enters there and stands listening.) 

Seeby. (Her voice strong enough, but slightly 
tremulous) You're going to stay on — here? 

Clara. I didn't say that ; I said I was not going 
home with my husband. 

Frazee. (Coming forward to bctzvecn Seeby and 
Clara) You've settled it then, Clara? 

Clara. (Trembling, but sharp) Yes, I have. 
You know I have! Absolutely! (The scene is of 
course played with tensity.) 

Frazee. (Suddenly turning to Seebyj What do 
you think of that, Miss Olds? I take it you under- 
stand what the lady means. 

Seeby. I'm not sure. 

Clara. Well, it's time now for both you and my 
husband to be sure — he wouldn't let me alone; he 
would bring on a crisis ! So when I leave here it 
won't be with him-, but it may be with Mr. Roddy! 
Oh, yes, it may ! 

Seeby. What? Why, you can't! 

Clara. No ? 

Seeby. Oh, no, Mrs. Frazee! 

Clara. Why not? 

Seeby. Whv, Mr. Roddy can't! 



THE WREN T7 

Clara. You poor child. I took the trouble to 
divert my husband's attentions to you, and Mr. 
Roddy — well, Mr. Roddy said a little more to you 
than he meant. 

Seeby. (To Roddy j Did you? Did you say 
more than you meant? 

Roddy. No, I didn't. 

Clara. (To him sharply) She took it for more 
than you meant, didn't she? You just told me so! 

Seeby. (Stricken, Jnit not weeping) Oh! 

Clara, Mr, Roddy isn't engaged to you, Miss 
Olds ! 

Seeby. No! (A prolonged note of lamentation 
and resentment together.) 

Clara. You said Mr. Roddy couldn't go with 
me. You don't still believe he "couldn't?" 

Frazee. / think he "couldn't." What do you 
say, Miss Olds? Do you think Mr. Roddy under- 
stands his responsibilities? 

Seeby. Oh, no ! (She is crying a little, not mov- 
ing.) 

Roddy. I'll answer for myself, sir! 

Frazee. Yes, I think it's about time! (Turning 
sharply from him:) Don't have the slightest worry, 
Miss Olds. My wife hasn't any intention of eloping 
with the young man, 

Clara. (Vehemently) I haven't. 

Frazee. (With strong, but tired contempt) This 
isn't the first time she's played Tristan and Isolde for 
a good listener I 

Clara. That's not true ! 

Frazee. I'-^^e been through much the same thing 
before, Miss Olds. Last winter it was a violinist. 

Clara. Varorioflf? How dare you say I cared 
for him? 

Frazee. Oh, they played Tristan and Isolde to- 
gether 



78 THE WREN 

Clara. Playing with him doesn't mean I cared 
for him, does it? 

Frazee, (Going on to Seeby^ But she didn't 
elope with him, and she won't run off with Mr. 
Roddy, Miss Olds! One reason I know she won't 
is because I had quite a talk with your man Francis 
this afternoon 

Seeby. Oh ! 

Frazee. (To Claraj Miss Olds is like me, 
Clara ; she's practical. She couldn't explain why she 
said Mr. Roddy "couldn't" run away with you. Well, 
I will. Your porter was quite a news budget, Miss 
Olds ; one thing he mentioned was that Mr. Roddy 
is staying here at half your regular rate. 

Roddy. (Stunned) What ! 

Frazee. That seems to hurt a little, does it, Mr. 
Roddy ? 

Roddy. Well, suppose it does? What of it? 

Frazee. I'm only being practical ; if you're living 
here on half-rates, it hardly seems you'll be able 
to 

Seeby. (Interrupting) But he isn't; it isn't so, 
Mr. Frazee — it isn't true at all! Mr. Roddy stays 
the long season — clear from April to November; of 
course we have a higher rate for transients than we 
do for people that stay the whole time. We always 
do; Mr. Roddy never asked for any special favor 
that way, 

WARN CURTAIN 

Frazee. (Incredulous) But he needed one, 
didn't he? 

Seeby. (With emotion underneath, but control- 
ling it) Oh, no ! Francis must have just put it 
like that 

Clara. (Sitting) Because he thought it would 
please you, Henry. 



THE WREN 79 

Seeby, We always have that rule about people 
that stay over two months, Mr, Frazee. 

Frazee. I see! You're not just trying to save 
Mr. Roddy's face. 

Seeby. Oh, no! 

Frazee. And he is amply able to provide for — — 

Clara. (Seated) Haven't you about finished 
with this exhibition, Henry ? Because I think it just 
about finishes you for me. You decide to quite over- 
whelm me with the information that Mr. Roddy is 
poor — as if I'd care whether he is or not ! — and even 
that turns out to be not true! (Rising.) You do 
know how to make a wife respect you — and how to 
keep her! Miss Olds, you're unusual; thank you 
for being on the side of the woman that runs away ! 
You understand, this finishes it, Henry ; I hope you 
do! (Exit.) 

Frazee. Well, we'll probably find out whether 
or not she means it, in the morning. I'm afraid / 
don't much care. Good-night, Miss Olds, (Exit 

up R.j 

Roddy. Eusebia, she — she put it wrong about 
your thinking I said more than I meant ! 

Seeby. Oh, no, she didn't! I understand that 
now. 

Roddy. But I didn't say more than I meant. I 
only mean you did not think I meant 

Seeby. Never mind that, please. It seems to me 
you've got a great many other things and — responsi- 
bilities — to think of — just now ! 

Roddy. (Dropping wretchedly into a chair) Oh, 
yes — I have! 

Seeby. And — obligations. 

Roddy. Yes. (Exhales a deep breath.) 

Seeby. I'd like to know how Francis found out 
about that! And it isn't other people's business to 
know when we have special rates ! 



8o THE WREN 

Roddy. Is that why you told them what wasn't 
so? 

Seeby. I only told 'em what is so- — transient rates 
are higher. 

Roddy. Yes, but you made 'em think — they think 
I'm well enough off. Why did you do it? 

Seeby. Why? Why, so that everything would 
be the way you wanted it to be. It's all right for you 
now. 

Roddy. It is ? Why, you made her think I'm well 
enough off to 

Seeby. Well, you are just as well off as you were 
before. 

Roddy. Yes, but she — why Mr. Frazee thinks 
I'd be able to 

Seeby. Oh, it would have been terrible to let him 
go on thinking you couldn't afford to run away — 
with his — with Mrs. Frazee. 

Roddy. (Indignantly) Eusehia! 

Seeby. After you have thought it over, Mr. 
Roddy, be sure to put the lights out before you go to 
bed! 

Roddy. See here ! She says she's going with me ; 
/ don't know where she wants to go ; she might want 
to go to Europe ! 

Seeby. Well, you could go there just as easily 
as any place else! 

Roddy. I'd like to know where I'd find money 
enough to take her! 

Seeby. Couldn't you ? 

Roddy. Where could I ? 

Seeby. Why, you heard what Mr. Frazee said ; 
I'm almost sure he'd be glad to let you have enough 
for that. Good night, Mr. Roddy. 

CURTAIN 



ACT III 

The same scene. It is bright morning outdoors. 
Francis, dressed as in Act I, and with a very 
sore expression, is vindicatively sweeping the 
carpet zvith a carpet-cleaner of the lawn-mower 
type. He utters a monosyllable of hatred nozu 
and then: "P-tah!" jouncing the sweeper at 
some fragment of dust on the carpet. Suddenly, 
as he works, he sings quite loudly: 

"One evenin' I was strollin' 

Through the citee (city) of the dead " 



He breaks off with a sharp "Yah" and a violent 
frown at some internal thought; jounces the 
sweeper, and abruptly changes his song: 

"Many's the heart that is breakin' 
Af-tuh the ball!" 

Then he says, "Tuh" ! and jounces the sweeper. 

His hack is now toward ce., and Mrs. Free- 
hart appears there on the veranda. She is as 
in Act I, except that she wears an old, checked 
sun-bonnet and has upon her left arm a basket 
of vegetables just pulled from the earth : a 
dirty trowel in her right hand. She comes to 
Francis from behind him, dropping the trowel 
8i 



82 THE WREN 

in the basket as she approaches. He knows she 
is coming behind him; she is not stealing upon 
him slyly, but just walking up to him; she has 
no expression, and he shows no sign of being 
aware of her. When she reaches him she gives 
him a hearty slap with her right hand between 
his shoulder blades, and at once passes on, im- 
perturbable. He slaps her, likewise, upon the 
back, in the same expressionless manner, as she 
goes by him. Neither gives any sign of recog- 
nizing the fact that these slaps have been be- 
stowed. It is one of the habitual forms of their 
courtship. Having slapped her, Francis wipes 
his brow with his forearm and goes on sweeping. 

Mrs. Freehart. (Pausing near door down R.j 
She say anythin' to you how many she wants to set 
fuh? 

Francis. Set fuh when? 

Mrs. Freehart. Fuh table this noon. 

Francis. (Sweeping, crisply) Couldn' tell ye. 

Mrs. Freehart. Di'n she tell ye to awduh 
("order") Will Thompson's cart (She pronounces 
"cart" almost as "cat.") fur Mr. an' Mrs. Frazee's 
trunks ? 

Francis. I can git the ca't if it's needed, but I 
d' know 'f Mis Frazee's goin'. Heard 'er say she 
wan't. (He jounces the sweeper.) "Buh!" 

Mrs. Freehart. Hee-uh\ What makes you 
take an' jounce the sweepuh like that? 

Francis. (He stops sweeping, zvipes his forehead 
with his right forearm, and speaks with bitterness) 
I'll tell you why I take an' jounce the sweepuh ; 
yes'm : it's about time in this country we done what 
them Rooshins done in Rooshy! Rooshy, thafs the 
country fuh me! 



THE WREN 83 

Mrs. Freehart. What's the Rooshins got to do 
with your jouncin' the carpit sweepuh? 

Francis. (Resentfully) Rooshy's the country 
where they get things right. They got some free- 
dom o' speech in Rooshy. 

Mrs. Freehart. (Placidly, counting vegetables 
in her basket) You says only yessdy ("yesterday" ) 
evenin' them Rooshins was all loonitics. 

Francis. (Making a resentful szveep with his 
szveeper) Changed my mind this mornin'._ Seems 
this ain't a free" country no more ! (Plaintively.) 
Seems a man ain't 'lowed to even mention no facts 
to a boarder! 

Mrs. Freehart. (Placidly) What facts? 

Francis. Well, s'posin' 'a body jes' happens to 
find out one boarder's on half rates, an' takes an' 
happens to mention it to another boarder. No, suh ! 
Seems a man can't say what he's a mind to in this 
country ! (Sweeps violently.) Can't say nothin' but 
what he's lowed to ! (Stopping the sweeper.) Else 
he'll git a dressin'-down you might thought I'd tuck 
an' murdered ("muh-dud") the whole commun'ty ! 
I never did git no sech a dress'-down sense my 
gran-mothuh caught me stealin' ten cents! (Sweep- 
ing.) 

Mrs. Freehart. What's what you told Mr. 
Frazee got to do with all them Rooshins? 

Francis. (Puts sweeper 1..) It's got this much; 
'f they git up a Bull-sheviss tickit 'n this country, 
I'm a good mind to take an' vote it! They had a 
K'zah ("Czar") at the head of their gov'ment over 
in Rooshy, dressin' 'em down, callin' 'em^ whatever 
he's a mind to, an' they wouldn't stand it. Looks 
like we got a K'zah in this country! (As Seeby's 
voice is heard off R.j 

Seeby. (Off R.) No, indeed, you can't! 

Francis. Jes' listen to 'er! 



84 THE WREN 

(^Seeby is heard; "No, indeed, you can't" then she 
enters from r., the Captain^'s room, or the pas- 
sage to it. She is dressed as first in Act I, 
wearing an apron; and she carries a tray with 
used dishes and a small china coffee-pot upon 
it; the Captain has had his breakfast in bed. 
He is heard complaining : "Hee-iih ! I want 
to ") 

Captain. (Off stage, complaining) Hee-uh ! I 
want to — — 

Seeby. (Speaking back to him before she closes 
the door) No. Fifteen minutes' nap after your 
breakfast before you can come out. 

Captain. (Off) Hee-uh ! 

Seeby. (Quietly) No, indeed. (As she closes 
the door and comes in, she looks darkly and steadily 
at Francis. He begins to sweep at once, plaintively. 
After looking at him for a moment zvith quiet 
severity.) Are you talking some more, Francis? 
(She has no humor under this; this is quiet and 
serious.) 

Francis. (Plaintively, but resentfully) No. 
Ain't. I know buttuh. (Siveeping.) No conva- 
sation 'lowed on the premises. 

Seeby. ^r.c.) Did you sweep over here? 

Francis. (Siveeping) Done all that side the 
room. 

Seeby, (Still holding the tray, and pointing to the 
floor, near her) Look at the dust you left here. 

Francis. (Muttering) Me? (Crosses to r.c. 
He comes quickly, however, and vindicatively 
attacks the area to which she continues to point until 
he gives it treatment.) 

Mrs. Freehart. How many you want I should 
set table fuh this noon? Francis says Miz Frazee 
says she wan't goin' away with her husband. 



THE WREN 85 

Seeby. (c. Glancing at Francis, quietly) Fran- 
cis says so? CFrancis pushes the sweeper straight 
ahead of him to a part of the room as far from her 
as possible ; his air is one of diligence, up r.) 

Mrs. Freehart. Oh, you mean Francis is wrong? 

Seeby. (Significantly) No ; I've found out that 
Francis is a good listener! (She gives him a short, 
hard glance, zvhich he catches with a swiftly turning 
head.) Mrs. Frazee did say she wouldn't go. 

Francis. (Resting his right elbow and left hand 
on the handle of the sweeper) Well, if she ain't, no 
use f me tell Will Thompson to bring his ca't. If 
it's only Mr. Frazee's trunk, I can take it ovuh in 
the buckboard. 

Seeby. No. He said the other way. You tell 
Thompson to bring his team and the big cart. (She 
almost calls it a "ca't") I'll set the table myself. 
Mrs. Freehart — when we find out if she's going. 

('Mrs. Freehart goes out, down r., aiid Seeby, 
carrying the tray, is following her, but looks 
back at Francis. He is still resting his arm on 
the sweeper handle and regarding her with dis- 
favor; but as she looks at him he starts and 
begins instantly to sweep again with a cowed 
industriousness. She goes out, down r., closing 
the door. He continues to sweep for a moment, 
then stops. Then, listening to R. and thinking 
he hears her returning, he begins to sweep hard 
again. Then he slacks up and stops. Frowns, 
shakes his head and stands staring bitterly r. 
Roddy enters down l. He wears knickerbock- 
ers and jacket and brown shoes, not new; car- 
ries his cap in his hand. His hair is neatly 
brushed, but he looks haggard. As he comes 
in, Francis glances round at him and begins 
to sweep again, and, a moment later, to sing the 



86 THE WREN 

Marseillaise in English with considerable feel- 
ing, though in a suppressed voice. Roddy stands 
a moment, frowning ; then goes up to the piano, 
tosses his cap upon it, and turns over a quantity 
of sheet music that is on top. Francis pauses, 
wipes his brow and addresses him.) 

Francis. Don't look to me like Miz Frazee's 
expectin' to travel none with husband. That 
music's all hern, ain't it? (The music.) 

Roddy. Yes. Has she been in here? 

Francis. Ain't been out her room that / see. / 
tuck her breakfast up. Stuck her a'm ("arm") out 
f the tray in a Chinee wrappnh. (Pauses.) You 
ain't thinicin' o' leavin', are ye? 

Roddy. (Looking at the music, absently) I 
might. 

Francis. / am. /'w thinkin' o' leavin'. Why no 
man ain't got no libutty in this house ! 

Roddy. (Smiling wanly, as he puts some of the 
music back on the piano) Yes. I think I remember 
once or twice last season, you were talking this way ; 
said you thought of leaving. (Very liohtly stresses 
"thought.'') 

Francis. Yes, an' I'd do it, too, if soinebuddy 
was to come along an' make me an offuh, an' show 
me where I c'd make a dolluh some bettuh place. 
Why, a man can't claim his own voice is his own 
round hee-uh ! It's dretful ! 

Roddy. (He looks at him, understanding, nods 
sorrily, and speaks in a low voice) I see. 

Francis. Seems a man ain't even 'lowed to speak 
in his own defence 'round hee-nh. Can't git a word 
in. 

Roddy. (Gravely) No. 

Francis. Rooshy's the place! Ovuh there they 
do what they're a mind to, an' they won't let nobody 



THE WREN 87 

talk to them; not about anythin' ! (Moves gloomily 
away, pushing his sweeper) I'd know what our 
country's a-comin' to! 

fCLARA enters up l. Her dress— (waist, skirt and 
brown shoes) — tells nothing of her real inten- 
tions. She is, like Roddy, neat, but haggard. 
She comes in, halts, looks at Roddy He looks 
at her. Francis goes on sweeping, humming 
the Marseillaise to himself. After a few mo- 
ments, he shakes his head, says "Puh!" bitterly, 
in a low tone, addressing Roddy, as if challeng- 
ing him, but expecting a sympathetic rejoinder. 
Francis picks up the waste-basket, which has 
some paper in it, and goes out down R., carrying 
the waste-basket and sweeper. Clara shows, 
by a breathy sigh and a relaxation of a strained 
attitude, her relief that he is gone. She sinks 
limply in a chair, l.c. Roddy slowly comes 
down near her. After a moment, not looking 
at him, she speaks in a small voice of pathos.) 

Clara. Well, Hugh? 

Roddy. (In a low voice) Well ? ^r. of Clara.J 

Clara. I want you to understand if there's one 
thing in the world I don't care about, it's money. 
He thinks I do, of course. That's one reason my 
life with him has been so hard ! His life is nothing 
but just getting ahead of somebody else. So he's 
cynical, and he's cynical about me. He knows I 
don't care a darn about "what people would say !" — 
but he thinks I wouldn't give up — Oh, well, an easy 
way of living! (Looking at Roddy suddenly, and 
appealing indignantly.) That's what he thinks of 
me, Hugh! 

Roddy. (Crosses to her) Of course it isn't true. 
I know you'd be brave, dear. 

Clara, You understand me better in a week than 



88 THE WREN 

he has in seven years ! / didn't take it for granted 
you were particularly well off; I didn't think about 
that at all. 

Roddy. I know you didn't. (He is thinking 
about if, now.) 

Clara. (With a short laugh) When he said that 
about your being- poor, he thought that'd just settle 
me! Huh! (A breath of scornful laughter. She 
rises.) 

Roddy. So — you're not going with him, Clara ? 

Clara. (With a sharpish laugh in which, how- 
ever, there is a real, though painful, amusement ) 
Going with him. That'd be a nice trip, wouldn't it ? 
(Going up, restlessly, l. of table.) All day in a 
parlor car drazving-room with him after what's hap- 
pened here ! Oh, my ! 

Roddy. You've made up your mind, Clara? 

Clara. (Turning up again) That would be a 
pleasant thing to face, wouldn't it? (With a short 
and more pained repetition of her laugh. Both are 
L.c, above table.) 

Roddy. (Heavily) Well (He stands help- 
less for a moment, then forces himself to go on.) 
Clara, I ought 

Clara. (Turning back, gravely) Yes, dear? 

Roddy. I (More sharply, in a kind of des- 
peration.) I oughtn't to let you go into this blind. 

Clara. (Quickly) I wouldn't be. 

Roddy. You — you know you wouldn't have a 
Pullman drawing-room with me, Clara. 

Clara. (Smiling wanly) No, but I'd be with 
you. 

Roddy. (Turning from her with a groan) Oh, 
I think I'm a poor sort ! 

Clara. (Quickly, reassuringly) That's — -just a 
little depression. 

Roddy. (Bitterly, crosses r.J Oh, my, no, it 



THE WREN 65 

Roddy. Yes. 

Clara. (In a stricken voice) What are we to do? 

fpRAZEE walks slowly and silently into view up c. 
and looks at them. They do not observe him. 
His expression slowly becomes grimly sardonic : 
"I thought so!" But he breathes heavily. 
Clara's playing falters; becomes very faint. 
Then, off up r. is heard the sound of other 
music, as if on the other side of the house, at 
first; then becoming louder as though the musi- 
cians came round in front near the veranda. 
Duet.) 

Clara. (Not looking back) Why, what is that? 

Frazee. (In a quiet, grim voice, but it deeply 
startles them, and they turn to stare at him) I think 
it's a serenade for you, Clara. 

Clara. (Breathless, trying to smile) Oh, you're 
there, Henry! 

Frazee. No! I believe they're serenading 

Mr. Roddy. 

Clara. (Trying to recover from the surprise) 
What — what are they trying to do? 

Frazee. (Coming down a few steps) An old 
song — but I think I like it better than Tristan and 
Isolde, myself. (His voice is significant of a sup- 
pressed but strong contejnpt on "Tristan and 
Isolde.") 

(Outside Seeby and Francis are heard singing to 
the guitar, the Nightingale Serenade : "Last 
night the nightingale woke me." Seeby sings 
the air and Francis the "second" in a sweet 
elderly tenor. They come closer.) 

Clara. (With a nervous half laugh) Good 
gracious — it's Miss Olds! 



66 THE WREN 

Frazee. Can't you listen, Clara? She's had to 
listen to you enough ! ('Clara bites her lip, flinching 
from his comprehension. Roddy stares at him.) 

(The singing is louder; the musicians have come up 
on the veranda, and a moment or two later they 
appear in the doorway, ce., and sing the last 
minute — or a little less — of the song there in 
full view. Seeby stands close to Francis ; her 
eyes to front and uplifted; she is, just then, a 
little conscious that she is performing — a little 
bit like a shy child "declaring a piece" ; — hut 
she sings her best. Francis, his head close to 
the finger-hoard and keys of the guitar, his eyes 
to heaven, is lost in his music. When the song 
is over Seeby is breathless and shy.) 

Frazee. (As they stop) Bravo! That was 
lovely, Miss Olds. 

Seeby. Thank you. (She comes down — Fran- 
cis with her, and is just able to lift her eyes to 
Roddy J Did — did you like it? (Not stressing 
"you.") 

Roddy. (In a husky tone, but with politeness) 
Oh, yes ; very much ! (He does not move, and has 
no facial expression except a "strained" look about 
the eyes and mouth.) 

Seeby. Of course, Francis knows how to sing, 
because he's always been so musical. He's been in 
the choir — ^how long have you been in the choir, 
Francis ? 

Francis. Only thirty-two year and eight months. 

Seeby. (Shyly to Roddyj You didn't like it? 
Don't you like any but one kind of music? 

Roddy. (Politely, as before) Oh, yes. (He 
speaks quickly, hut has to force himself to speak at 



THE WREN 67 

all; his mind is violently occupied with Clara and 
FrazeeJ 

Seeby. (She goes to r.c,^ somewhat nervously, 
apologising) I guess maybe it was a mistake not 
to let Francis sing alone — probably you'd have en- 
joyed it more. 

Frazee. (Quietly) No, we wouldn't. 

Seeby. (With an attempt at a deprecating laugh) 
Of course Francis's part of it was all right — he's 
spent nearly all of his spare time on music for so 
many years — but maybe / 

Frazee. Don't be troubling about your part of 
it, Miss Olds. 

Seeby. (Nervously) Well — thank you. (A lit- 
tle timidly, but hopefully to Roddy.j Would you 
like to look at the chart now? 

Roddy. Ah (Glances at Clara and Frazee.^ 

Yes. (He crosses to her.) 

Seeby. (Smiles brightly as she unrolls the chart. 
Perhaps, after all, she has shozvn Roddy that she 
has a little music in her, and can compete in some 
measure. At least he seems to have left Clara for 
her) Father said, to show you here where it drops 
off to fifteen fathoms. That's v/here the channel 
for the ships is — to come up into the river. 

Roddy. (Frowning) I see. 

Frazee. (c. Turning down to her) Miss Olds 
— I'll only interrupt you a minute 

Seeby. (Looking up, but still holding the chart 
on the fable, keeping it from rolling up) Yes? 

Frazee. This afternoon I said I'd let you know 
how long I'd be staying. I thought I'd better speak 
of it now. 

Seeby. Very well, Mr. Frazee, 

Frazee. I'll be leaving to-morrow morning, 
r Clara, up l.c, opens her eyes wide in hopes. Her 
face begins to be radiant.) 



68 THE WREN 

Seeby. (A shade disturbed) Yes, Mr. Frazee. 

Clara. (With a little solicitude, artificial) Oh — 
you're going to-morrow, Henry? (Crosses down l.) 

Frazee. Yes. (Then to Seeby. j I'll take the 
eleven-twenty-five train; it's a through express. 
Could you have something here to drive to the 
station in? 

Seeby. Certainly. 

Frazee. And the trunks? 

Seeby. Francis can take your trunk over. 

Frazee. I think we'll need a larger wagon than 
that buckboard he used this afternoon. Besides my 
trunk, Mrs. Frazee has three and a hat-trunk. 
("Clara is startled; Roddy stares.) 

Seeby. Oh — is Mrs. Frazee going, too? (There 
is a concealed hope in this.) 

Frazee. Yes, Miss Olds ; so both rooms wull be 
vacant — Mrs. Frazee is going with me. 

Seeby. Oh, I didn't know 

Clara. (In a sharp, strained voice, hut trying not 
to "make a scene before people") Why, Henry, 
have you heard me say I was going? 

Frazee. You'll have everything arranged for us 
to leave on the eleven-twenty-five, Miss Olds? 

Seeby. (Puzzled) Why, yes, Mr. Frazee, if 

Frazee. That's settled, then. Thank you. (Turns 

Clara. (Trying to laugJi easily) Don't expect 
my room to be vacant, Miss Olds. (Turning quickly 
and speaking sharply to Fkazee, her voice hard, hut 
shaking.) Hadn't you better consult me a little when 
you make plans for us both? 

Frazee. Yes, I'm thinking of you. (Goes on up 

L.; 

Clara. (Loudly) I'll do my own thinking, 
thanks ! 



THE WREN 69 

Frazee. Never mind now, please! (Exits up l. 
Shuts door.) 

Clara. (Follozving) Henry ! You've got to lis- 
ten to me! I'm not (She goes quickly off, up 

L., after him. Roddy steps toivard l., staring after 
them.) 

Seeby. (After a pause, in a voice still shozving 
astonish'incnt ) Why — that'll make a great difference, 
won't it? (Not interrogative.) I'm afraid you'll — 
miss her — if she has to go. 

Roddy. (Huskily, but zvith a little sharpness) 
She's not gone yet, and I don't think she will. 

Seeby. If she does — I'm afraid you'll miss her 
music. (^RoDDY breathes heavily, not anszvering. He 
is still looking l. Seeby comes nearer him; she 
gives a little deprecatory laugh.) I — guess it was 
pretty silly of me to try to sing for you. I ought to 
be ashamed of myself for telling you this afternoon 
that I sing right well. (Laughing again depreca- 
torily.) I guess it sounded pretty awful. Honestly, 
were you sort of mortified? 

RoDDY. (Puzzled and not favorable) Was I 
"mortified" ? 

Seeby. (Shyly, but smiling zvanly) 1 mean when 
I was singing were you sort of mortified for me? 

Roddy. (Not sharply) Good heavens I But why 
should / feel that way? 

Seeby. Because (She stops, turns azvay in 

thought; then turns to him again, smiling a little zvith 
an idea.) Well, you shouldn't — and I'll tell you why 
not. I'll tell you, because you asked me — to like you 
always, (Again shyly on this, but smiling a little.) 

Roddy. (Remembering this with a nervousness 
that he conceals) Oh — yes. (He sits, biting his lip, 
R. of table.) 

Seeby. (Gravely) Would you like to understand 
why — I sang? 



70 THE WREN 

RoDDv. Well, just now, if you don't mind, I'm 
trying to understand something else. 

Seeby. (Still gravely) Wouldn't you be willing 
to understand about — me — first? I — I feel as if I'd 
just have to make you. (She looks, zvith an idea, 
at the "high-boy." ) Oh, I believe I can ! (She goes 
to the "high-boy") 

Roddy. (Absently) Well, I'm afraid I'd rather, 
really rather 

Seeby. (Taking a square of white card-board 
ornamented zvith a pink ribbon from the "high-boy" ) 
It won't take but a minute. (Apologetically.) It's 
it's a poem ! (He looks surprised; she gets his look 
quickly and goes on hastily.) I didn't write it — I 
didn't write it. (She says this twice, very fast.) 

Roddy. (Again looking absent and worried) Oh ! 

Seeby. (Coming tozvard him) It's a — it's a poem 
that was written — to me. (Apologetically.) 

Roddy. (Muttering politely, without looking at 
her) Oh, I see ! 

Seeey. (Earnest) But not by any person that 
you'd call particularly a poet; I don't mean it's really 
a poem at all. The children in the school I taught 
last winter wrote it and one of them recited it to me 
the last day of school. 

Roddy. (Sighing) I see — one of the little girls? 

Seeby. (Very faintly conscious) Well — no; it 
was one of the boys ; he wasn't very little, and of 
course he ought to have known how to write a better 
poem at his age — and size — too. (Not "pointing" 
this, but rather dropping this, and then speaking 
quickly, not smiling.) If you could stand it I 
thought I'd just — so you'd see what I mean; it's 
called, "Good-bye, Miss Olds, Good-bye." (She 
smiles and swallows.) And this is the way it begins. 
(Then she reads, and does it apologetically, yet with 



THE WREN 71 

humor, and is nevertheless touched by the tribute, 

so that her voice has a tremor.) 

"The school-year is over forever, Miss Olds, 
And tho' usually we're glad when the last day 

unfolds, 
This year that's just passed 
We now feel should be classed 
With a feeling of sorrow 
Which we shall feel when to-morrow 
Will not disclose you 
To our sad longing view, 
Miss Olds." 

(She laughs, tremulously.) I — I'll only read the 
next stanza, Mr. Roddy — just this much. 

"All the birds and the flowers 
Will sing through the hours " 



Of course he got mixed up there, about the flowers 

singing 

"They will sing through the hours 

All sumrrier, and haunt us, Miss Olds, 

With thoughts of past days 

When you gave us your praise 

Or even when you did not, 

Anyhow, you will ne'er be forgot. 

Miss Olds." 

It goes on, but I guess that's enough — I guess any- 
how it's enough for you to see what I mean, isn't it ? 
You do, don't you ? 

Roddy. No, I'm afraid I can't say I do. 

Seeby. Well, the — the pupil that wrote it — he 
was waiting in the school-yard afterwards, when I 
came out ; and he had his head down, pretending not 



72 THE WREN 

to see me, but, of course, as I came by, I looked up 
at him and I 

Roddy. (Without interest) You looked up at 
him? 

Seeby. (Without apparent consciousness) Yes ; 
I mentioned he wasn't one of the little boys, didn't 
I? 

Roddy. (Murmuring) Oh, yes! I see! 

Seeby. I saw he wanted to say something about 
his — his poem, poor thing, so I told him again I 
thought it was lovely. You couldn't guess what he 
said. (She speaks wistfully, not smiling.) He said 
— he did say it just this way — he said: "Well, I 
didn't expect much I'd fasc'nate you, but I hoped if 
I didn't, maybe anyway you kind of laugh, or some- 
thing." Well, that's just what / hoped, you see. 

Roddy. When ? 

Seeby. I knew I couldn't fascinate you — but she's 
always playing to you — and so I got Francis — and — 
we sang. I thought maybe anyway you'd laugh — 
or — or something I But you didn't ! 

Roddy. Eusebia ! 

Roddy. (Impatiently trying to express patience) 
I thought your singing was very nice — but I — well, 
you know 

Seeby. (Not showing zvhat she feels and speak- 
ing rather lightly) Oh, yes ; about her going to- 
morrow. (Going rather quickly to table r.c, her 
expression thoughtful, hut not depressed, rather 
cheerful.) Of course you would be. But I was 
thinking 

Roddy. (With the same impatient patience) 
Thinking what? 

Seeby. (To front of sofa; she is timid and gentle 
about this, but altogether sincere and genuine — as 
though she fears he may not like it but has some 
hope that he may) Well, we need one anyway, when 



THE WREN 89 

isn't; and you couldn't get me out of it with a 
piano ! I think I'm the worst fool I ever heard of ! 
(With increasing vehemence, comes hack to her.) 
Do you know the thing that hurt me worst of all 
last night? 

Clara. Why, I suppose it was hearing my hus- 
band abusing me so ! 

Roddy. (With a despairing laugh) No, it wasn't ! 
It was his coming out with it that I board here on 
half rates ! It's the truth, I do ! 

Clara. (Quickly, easily) Why, there's nothing 
wrong in that. (She goes to the piano and begins 
sorting and arranging her many music sheets.) 

Roddy. (Lamenting almost passionatelv ) No ! 
Not wrong; yet here I am, trying to get a man's wife 
away from him, and pretending to make love to a 
girl to keep him from seeing it. and hurting the girl 
like the dickens — and yet when it all comes out, the 
only thing I'm ashamed of, at the time, is being ex- 
posed as living here on half rates ! What kind of a 
snob am I? 

Clara. (Lightly) Why, I wouldn't think it'd 
bother you a minute ! (She continues throughout to 
arrange her music.) 

Roddy. No, you wouldn't ! I'm afraid you think 
I'm a great young man! 

Clara. (Smiling absently) Indeed, I do. 

Roddy. You think I can paint! 

Clara. Of course you can. 

Roddy. (Vehemently) I can't, though ! I 
thought I could because I was so crazy to think so ! 
I looked 'em all over this morning, and there isn't 
one of 'em worth a damn ! And I've got to begin 
all over, and it's time I knew it ! 

Clara. (Looking at her music) It's just a mood, 
dear. 

Roddy. It'd better last, if I'm ever going to 



90 THE WREN 

amount to anything! Why, everything about me's 
wrong: my painting's wrong and my character's 
wrong. Why, I'm awful! (His voice rises with a 
kind of plaintiveness here. On arm of sofa.) 

Clara. (With tenderness, lightly a^id still a little 
absently) You're "awful" nice, I think ! 

Roddy. What business has anybody boarding on 
half rates to take a man's wife away from him? 

Clara. (As if absently, and with a trace of bit- 
terness) He wouldn't mind much ! He said so, 

Roddy. (Not heeding her) To take her to board 
on half rates somewhere, if we can get 'em! (He 
rises.) Clara, some fool gave me six hundred dol- 
lars for two pictures last winter. That's what I'm 
living on yet. 

Clara. (Looking at him over her sheets of music) 
But you'll sell plenty of others. (Her voice is a 
little breathless.) 

Roddy. (Swallowing and making a contemptuous 
motion with his head to the door down l.) Not 
these! Lord knows when! 

Clara. (Thoughtfully) You will some time. 
(She has her music sorted, and in a compact mass. 
She has been looking more at it than at Roddy 
throughout the scene. She noiv takes the music and 
holds it zvith her left arm.) 

Roddy. (Turning to her) Well, now you know 
all I can tell you. (Smiling wretchedly.) What's 
to be done ? 

Clara. (Coming to him, speaks softly, quickly, 
reassuringly, and with a somewhat eager simplicity) 
W^hy, Hugh, everything you've said doesn't make 
any difference to me. You can be sure if I ever did 
change my mind about coming to you it wouldn't be 
because you're DOor. That's the last thing I'd think 
of! 

Roddy. (Looking at her piteously, but speaking 



THE WREN 91 

out strongly enough) You mean if you give me up 
it'd be because Fm such a messf 

Clara. Who said anything about giving you up ! 

Roddy. You're not going to? 

Clara. (Quickly — as if the idea zuere preposter- 
ous) Indeed, I'm not! Do you think I'll let that 
man spoil the happiest thing in my life? (Going l., 
angry upon this thought.) Everything is going to be 
all right. 

Roddy. Is it? 

Clara. Of course. 

Roddy. (Beginning sharply) Clara (He 

is sharply interrupted by a loud ringing of the Cap- 
taints bell and impatient thumpings off up r. Roddy 
begins again.) Clara — I (The bell and thump- 
ing again interrupt him; as soon as they stop he 
opens his mouth to speak again, but Clara checks 
him zuith a gesture to dozvn r. j 

Clara. (Warning him with a gesture) I've 
thought just what'll be the best way for us to do. 
(Her voice is hurried and a little suppressed. She 
smiles.) 

fSEEBY enters down r. The bell rings again; the 
thumpings are renewed. Seeby glances at 
Roddy and Clara expressionlessly and calls 
back thorugh doorway doivn r.) 

Seeby. (Calling) Francis ! Time for us to get 
him into his chair. 

{'Francis enters down r. with the waste-basket, 
empty; he restores it to place and goes to up r. 
with Seeby. Francis exits up r. at once, but 
Seeby pauses; looking across thoughtfully at 
Clara J 



92 THE WREN 

Clara. (Hastily, in an undertone to RoddyJ I'll 
tell you. (She smiles sweetly and reassuringly to 
him and goes out quickly up L.J 

Seeby. (Up eJ D' she say what she's going to 
do? (Going on gravely.) I just wanted to know 
whether you and she'll be here for dinner. 

Roddy. (In a loiv voice) I think we'll be here 
that long. (He turns up. Sits by the piano, gloom- 
ily thinking.) 

Seeby. (Quietly) All right. (She goes out r. 
The Captain is heard complaining.) 

Captain. (Peevishly, off r.) Hee-uh! Don't 
han'le me so rough, Francis ! Wazza mattuh of you ! 
Nice way you treat me, Seeby ! Go off an' neglect 
me when I want to git out! 

Seeby. (Cheerfully, off r.) There we go ! Yes, 
we'll git out where there's some air! (She pushes 
him on in the wheel chair; she has his cap and shawl 
under her arm; he looks plaintive. She wheels him 
to c.) Here we are! ('Francis follows her out up 
R. Goes down r.) 

Captain. (Fretfully) I want to go out on the 
porch. 

Seeby. (Soothingly cheerful) In a few minutes, 
when you get used to the air of this room. It's 
cooler than yours, and the porch is cooler still. (She 
puts his shawl on him as she speaks.) There, father ! 

Captain. (Pulling at the shawl) I don't want 
the shawl! (Snatching the cap.) Gimme my cap. 
(He puts it on.) I want my cap, but I wunt have 
this damn shawl! 

Seeby. (Serenely tying the shawl about him) 
Yes ; you need it. 

Captain. I don't care 'f I need it, I wunt have 
it! 

Seeby. (Serenely) Yes, dearie ! (Pins it with a 
safety pin in the back.) Now it won't come off. 



THE WREN 93 

Captain. (Moans, giving up wretchedly, after 
trying to reach the pin) Ach! / got no resistance. 
I bet if I ever git my legs back you wunt have your 
way with me! 

Francis. (Muttering) Yes, she will. 

Seeby. (She has paid no attention to either of 
them, hut looks fixedly at an area of the carpet; she 
looks up and speaks to Francis^ who is just going 
out down R.) Francis ! 

Francis. (Looking back) Well, what now? 
(Plaintively and as though he must bend his back 
to the burden.) 

Seeby. Look at the dust here you didn't get. 

Francis. (Promptly and firmly) Then it's been 
put there since. 

Seeby. (Quietly) Bring the sweeper. (^Fran- 
cis makes a brief gesture of despair and goes.) 
Close the door after you, Francis. (Not sharply, 
hut seriously.) 

Francis. (Just coming back in) Got to open it 
again, haven't I, if I'm comin' right back with the 
sweepuh ? 

Seeby. (Warning him) Francis ! (Not sharply 
or ominously.) 

Francis. (Moaning almost as if he sang it in 
falsetto) Oh, my soul ! (Exit, closing the door.) 

Captain. (Insisting strongly, in a high voice, 
very cross) I want to g' out on the porch now, I 
tell ye ! 

Seeby. (Cheerily) Scon's I've made your bed, 
father. 

Captain. Can I smoke yet? 

.Seeby. (Serenely) Not till then. (E.xit up R.J 

Captain. (Moaning) Dog-gone it! Can't do 
nothin' less she says so! ('Francis enters dozvn r. 
with the sweeper and very lozv in spirits. Captain 



94 THE WREN 

goes on.) Got to be ordered around in my own 
house same's if I might be less'n some inseck! 

Francis. (Applying the sweeper) "Inseck!" 
(With a sore laugh.) Why a inseck's a king in this 
house 'long side of you or me. Don't pride yourself 
you're way up high in no inseck class, Cap'n ! 

Captain. Says I can't even smoke till she gits 
my bed made ! That's good sense, ain't it ? 

Francis. You got that box o' stumps ye been 
hidin' from her. Why'n't ye light one? 

Captain. Why, she'd smell it on me, wouldn't 
she? 

Francis. Yep ; this ain't no free man's house ; 
we got a K'zah hee-uh, Cap'n ! 

Captain. Got a who? 

Francis, A K'zah — like them Rooshins use' to 
have. 

Captain. Well, if he was anythin' like Seeby I 
pity 'em! Why, I ain't got as much libutty as a 
canary bird. A canary bird can dodge around or 
take a few hops whenever he's a mind to ! I ain't 
'lowed to! 

Francis. (Sweeping) No, suh ! 

Captain. I tell you, Mr. Roddy, you're a lucky 
man ! 

Roddy. (With a short laugh) I'm lucky? 

Captain. You're lucky ain't no woman to boss 
you in an inch of your life ! 

Roddy. (Shaking his head) I don't know ; I 
don't know. 

Captain. Mr. Roddy, all I got to say to any 
man is just this: Don't never let no quiet, bossy 
little woman git a-holt of ye ! 

Francis. A man's got no chance with them 
women. Once they git him, all he evuh knows aftuh 
that is he's doin' somethin' they told him to ! 

Captain. (Becoming determined) I ain't nnh' 



THE WREN 95 

buddy's doormat! I'll show her! The minute she 
comes back in this room I'm a-goin' to act just ex- 
ackly's I'm a mind to! I'm goin' straight out on 
that porch an' I'm a-goin' to light me a seegar! I'll 
show her ! ('Til shoinfuh" is what he says.) 

Francis. Well, I hope to see it ! 

Captain. (Promising) You will. 

Francis. Well, we'll soon find out 'f ye got it in 
ye! 

(Seeby enters up r., some folded linen over her arm. 
She speaks briskly and indulgently as she en- 
ters.) 

Seeby. Now, Father, you've been so good — — 

Captain. (Interrupting crossly) I ain't! 

Seeby. (Going on as she reaches him and putting 
her hands on the hack of the chair) Now you can 
go out on the porch. It's time for that nozv. 

Roddy. (Jumping up and striding to her) Let 
me take him. 

(Seeby lets him without speaking to him; and gets 
the binoculars from the table. Roddy wheels 
him to up c.) 

Seeby. And here are your glasses for you, so 
you can watch the sea for vessels. (She hands him 
the binoculars.) There! And you can have your 
cigar now, too. (She gets a cigar and matches from 
a locked drawer in the highboy — she has the key — 
and fakes them to him. Roddy leaves him at c.e. on 
veranda, facing r. Francis is r., staring at Cap- 
tain. Seeby holds a match for Captain.^) And 
here are your matches. There! (He takes the 
match from her, partly lights his cigar, and becomes 



96 THE WREN 

conscious of Francises stare. Seeby has moved 
away from the Captain J 

Captain. (To Francis, irritably) Who you 
lookin' at ? I done what I said ; showed ye, didn't 
I ? I am out here an' I am a-smokin', ain't I ? Done 
what I said, didn't I? 

Francis. (Scornfully) Yes, just exactly. 

Seeby. Francis. 

Francis. (Quickly) I 'n't say anythin'! 
' Seeby. (Handing him the linen) Put this in the 
clo'es basket. Did you tell Thompson to bring his 
team to the side door? (That is, in l. direction.) 

Francis. Told 'im. 

Seeby. You'd better find out how many trunks 
are going. (He goes languidly toward door r. She 
speaks quietly) Hurry. (He at once moves faster 
and exits dozvn r. Seeby goes to close the drazver 
from which she has taken the cigar and the matches 
and locks it. She had left it open. Captain works 
his chair around to face up on veranda.) 

Roddy. Eusebia ? 

Seeby. (Has not seemed to be aware of him. 
Speaks gently, but as though preoccupied) Yes. 
(Opening another drawer, she puts chair l. in place.) 

Roddy. I've been looking over the work I've 
done since I came this year. 

Seeby. (Absently) Have you? (She takes a 
square of soft cloth from the drawer and closes the 
drawer.) 

Roddy. I found you were right about it. 

Seeby. Was I? (She begins to rub the zvooden 
parts of a chair zvith the cloth; she speaks gloomily 
in a low tone as to herself, up L. to back of door) 
I knew it ! He didn't touch this chair when he 
rubbed 'em down ! 

Roddy. My work now is worse than I did last 



THE WREN 97 

year. (He is sparing himself nothing; it hurts, but 
he is self-controlled.) 

Seeby. (Working) Well, you could hardly help 
that. (She keeps her eyes on her work.) 

Roddy. Why ? 

Seeby. (Continuing to rub and speaking as if 
absently) Why, you didn't have anybody go with 
you when you were working last year. People do 
their best work when somebody isn't talking to 'em, 
don't they? 

Roddy. (Groaningly) I guess they do. 

Seeby. Well, then, all you need to do is to go 
outdoors and work alone. (Her tone and work con- 
tinue as before.) That is, unless you have to take 
care of Mrs. Frazee. 

Roddy. I don't know what I'm going to do about 
that. (He walks about nervously to r. and back.) 

Seeby. Why don't you know? 

Roddy. Because she hasn't really told me. 

Seeby. (Pausing a moment to look at him 
gravely) What do you think she's going to make 
you do ? (In an even, quiet tone of inquiry.) 

Roddy. (Tossing up his hands despairingly) 
Good heavens, is it true, I wonder? Do men only 
do what women make 'em do? 

Seeby. (Still looking at him) 'No. Mr. Frazee 
doesn't. 

Roddy. (Dropping into a chair) Your father 
thinks it's true. 

Seeby. (Beginning to zvork again) Oh, some 
men have to be looked after. He had to be, even 
before he was sick ; he wanted to marry — oh, I don't 
know who-all ! 

Roddy. (Slowly, looking at her fixedly) But 
you didn't let him. 

Seeby. (Working, speaks simply as in explana- 
tion) He kept changing his mind. As soon as he 



98 THE WREN 

settled on one he'd find out something about her 
he didn't like. Sometimes he couldn't think himself 
what it was he didn't like, and I'd have to tell him. 

Roddy. Ah — I see. (He looks at her. She fin- 
ishes with the chair and seizes another; looks at it 
thoughtfully ; then seeing a suspiciotis spot, attacks 
it zvith the cloth. He speaks in a husky voice, lean- 
ing toward her) Eusebia, will you give me the cloth 
and let me rub that chair for you? 

Seeby. (Puzzled) Why, no. What for? 

Roddy. (Groaning and getting up) You don't 
even believe I could do that! You don't think I can 
do aM3;thing, do you ? 

Seeby. (Rubbing the chair, but more slowly) 
Why, yes ; I think you could paint — some time. 

Roddy. (Incredulous) You do? (Rises.) 

Seeby. (Her hand pausing) If you'd work alone 
— and keep at if. 

Roddy. (Coming near her) Last night there were 
— several things for me to be — ashamed of. 

Seeby. V\^ell 

Roddy. And yet you knew what I was — most 
ashamed of. I want to know how you knew it. 

Seeby. Well — just from knowing you. 

Roddy. (Despairingly) That's it! Knounng me 
made you think I'd be ashamed of the pettiest thing ! 
It's sickening, but you were right ! 

Seeby. (Working slowly) Oh, well 

Roddy. I haven't stayed most ashamed of that, 
Eusebia. I hope you understand what I've been 
thinking about since then. 

Seeby. (On her knees working) I s'pose you've 
been wondering a good deal what she's going to have 
you do. 

Roddy. Yes. I have; it's true. But I've been 
wondering more just what horrible things I ought to 
think of myself for — for (She stops rubbing.) 



THE WREN 99 

Seeby. (Smiling) I'll say it. For — for making 
up to me so that Mrs. Frazee's husband wouldn't 
see what was going on? 

Roddy. Yes. 

Seeby. (After a pause. Coolly) But you needn't 
bother about that. (She begins to rub the chair 
again.) Because / don't. (She rises, gives the chair 
a look-over, a final rub on a spot.) It doesn't bother 
me — any! (She takes the cloth back to the drawer.) 

Roddy. (Mystified) But — ^but 

Seeby. Not a bit. 

Roddy. But I wasn't pretending and you know it. 

Seeby. How do you know I do ? 

Roddy. Because I do. 

Seeby. (Reassuringly) Well. (Coming to him.) 
Let me tell you. I will like you always and I was 
glad you asked me to. From the day you came here 
last year I saw you were a person that could do a 
great deal if somebody looked after you and made 
you do what you ought to. And all the time since. 
I've wished I just could do that. That's the way I 
am ; when I see anybody that ought to be made to 
behave a certain' way. I can't help wanting to make 
'em. And I zvos doing a good deal with you when 
Mrs. Frazee came and spoiled it. Well, last night 
I was trying to get you back, so I could go on — and 
when you were so — sweet to me, I thought for a 
little while I did have you back to work again. 
That's all it is. I'm like that. 

Roddy. You — you just wanted to make me do 
what I — I ought to — tlie way you feel about your 
father. 

Seebv. (Sivallozving) Yes — that's the way I am. 
(She comes to chair.) 

Roddy. (Ruefully) Well, I've shown the way I 
am ! (Groaning.) 

Seeby. (Gravely) Yes. 



100 THE WREN 

Roddy. Pretty bad stuff to work on. 

Seeby. No. You're just — just (She doesn't 

know how to put it.) 

Roddy. Just what? 

Seeby. Oh, just sort of Hke — people. 

Roddy. (Gulping) All right. What had I better 
do now? 

Seeby. (Gravely) Do 5'ou ask me? (Slightest 
stress on "me") 

Roddy. Won't you tell me ? 

Seeby. Well, first, you have to wait around and 
see what Mrs. Frazee wants, don't you? 

Roddy. (Not enthusiastic) I suppose so. 

Seeby. (Slotvly, with an air of grave simplicity) 
Don't you want her to leave her husband ? 

Roddy. (Bothered) Of course, I ought to say I 
do 

Seeby. I see. (Nodding.) You mean it's your 
duty to want her to run away. 

Roddy. (Laughing ivretchedlv, groaning) Well, 
I don't! Oh. Lord! 

Seeby. But you have to go if she says so, don't 
you? 

Roddy. (Desperately, hut with a remnant of hu- 
mor) I don't know ! / haven't got any sense ; you 
know that now ! Eusebia. I have an idea I'm just 
what you'd like a man to be — without any backbone 
and without any brains ! — so you can take entire 
charge of him ! Isn't it so ? 

Seeby. (Thoughtfully, as if she hadn't listened) 
You want me to tell you what to do? 

Roddy. I do. 

Seeby^. (She is at the piano, looking at if mus- 
ingly. Casually) She took all her music, didn't .she? 
(Affirmative.) 

Roddy. Are you going to tell me what to do? 
(She still looks at the piano.) Aren't you going to? 



THE WREN loi 

Seeby. (Absently) Yes. I think you'd better 
stay here. Just stay in this room. 

Roddy. How long? 

Seeby. (Casually, friendly, still preoccupied) 
Well — you'd better stay till I tell you. (He sits obe- 
diently, not happy.) 

(Francis enters up l.) 

Francis. (To Seeby j George Smith's out yon 
with his snappy Ford ; says you ordered it f ' Mr. 
Frazee. Will Thompson's ca'ts there, too. Mr. 
Frazee's lookin' fuh you: guess he wants to settle. 

Seeby. (Quickly) Oh, I'll come. (Exit up L.j 

Francis. (To Roddyj Ain'che goin' out to the 
gate to say good-bye? (Gesturing with his head 
toward l. Captain turns chair part round, his at- 
tention attracted.) 

Roddy. No. I'm going to stay here. 

Francis. What fuh? 

Roddy. Because Miss Olds told me to. 

Francis. (Huskily, after a pause) She did? 
(Roddy nods gravely.) How long ye goin' to set 
there — 'cause she told ye to ? (With pained satire.) 

Roddy. Until she tells me to go. 

Francis. (Gloomily) D'joo hear that, Cap'n? 

Captain. (Nodding decisively) I did! 

Francis. (With genuine feeling) Well, Mr. 
Roddy, I d'know as it's my place, so to speak, to be 
offerin' to say what I think; but I certainly do hate 
to see it, I do. I hate to see it! 

Roddy. What? To see what? 

Francis. (Plaintive with sympathy, but hurry- 
ing the speech) 'I Gorry, if a man can't have a little 
fun cuttin' up with a married woman once in a 
while when he ain't married himself, yet, I'd know — 



102 THE AVREN 

I da know what our country's comin' to! (Goes 
up.) 

(Frazee enters up l. He glances at Roddy, passing 
him to go to the Captain ; then pauses.) 

Frazee. (As if about to say something) Oh — 

uh (Then decides not to and goes on dryly) 

Well, good-bye, Mr. Roddy. (Goes briskly up to 
the Captain, while Roddy feebly murmurs.) 

Roddy. Uh — good-bye. 

Frazee. (Shaking hands) Good-bye, Cap'n Olds. 

Captain. Good-bye, suh. Good-bye. Hope ye 
injoyed you' stay. I'm afraid Mr. Roddy there'll 
feel you're leavin' him in the lurch, as it were, him 
and you bein' the only he-boarders up to now. He's 
certainly been great company fuh your wife, too. 

(Francis starts to laugh. Checks himself.) 

Roddy, (Shuddering) Oh, murder! 

Captain. G'bye, sir. Come again. 

Frazee. Thanks. Oh, Francis? 

Francis. (Going to him qmckly) Here I be. 

Frazee. Thanks for getting the trunks down. 
(Puts something in his hand. At the word "trunks," 
Roddy starts and looks at him.) 

Francis. Oh, you're pufTecIdy walcome! 

Frazee. Good-bye. I'll go around this way, 
(Exit on veranda to off l.) 

Francis. (Coming dotvn) Nice man, Frazee. 

Roddy. (Sharply) Did he say "trunk" or 
"trunks" ? 

Francis. "Trunks." Ain't ye even 'lowed to 
know she's goin'? 

Roddy. (Huskily) Is she? 



THE WREN 103 

(Clara enters iip l. She has put on her traveling 
coat and hat and gloves. Roddy rises, looking 
at her dumbly. She looks at him, drops her 
eyes, goes to Francis, and puts something in 
his hand.) 

Clara. (In a lozv voice) Good-bye, Francis. 

Francis. (Looking down into his hand) You're 
puffeckly walcome, Miz Frazee. (Affably; then he 
becomes sympathetic) We're all mighty sorry to 
see ye go, Mrs. Frazee. That is to say, I am an' 
Cap'n Olds is, an' I'm sure Mr. Roddy is — an' Mrs. 

Freehart (He seems to be going on, but Seeby 

enters as far as c.e. on veranda and interrupts at this 
point. She carries in her hand a bunch of forget- 
me-nots, and wears a becoming hat.) 

Seeby. Oh, Mrs. Frazee, father wants to say 
good-bye to you if you will. Then I'll wheel him 
to the other end of the porch where it's sunnier. 

Captain. (Quickly) No! It's hot 'nuff right 
hee-uh. I want (But Clara has come to him.) 

Clara. Good-bye, Captain Olds. 

Captain. Good-bye, ma'am. Come again, an' 
bring your good husband. 

Seeby. And perhaps you'd wear these? (She 
gives her the flowers.) 

Clara. Oh — forget-me-nots! (Looks at Seeby, 
who smiles.) Thank you, Miss Olds. (Rather stif- 
fly. She pins them to her zvaist and turns down.) 

Seeby. (In a sharp whisper) Francis! (Fran- 
cis staring from Clara to Roddy, and wishing to see 
their parting, pays no attention. She repeats the 
whisper) Francis ! 

Francis. (Surprised) Me ? 

(Eusebia looks at him primly. He comes up and 
she makes a gesture toward the chair. Francis 



io4 THE WREN 

begins to push it to r. in obedience to the ges- 
ture.) 

Seeby. Clear up to the sunny end. 

Captain. (Protesting) I da want to ! I want t' 
stay hee-uh — see what's goin' on ! (His voice grows 
more peevish and cracks plaintively.) I want to stay 
hee-uh ! I da want to be in the sun ! (He ceases to 
be heard. Seeby goes off l. on veranda. She 
doesn't look into the room.) 

Clara. (Demurely) It isn't — it isn't good-bye, 
Hugh ! 

Roddy. (Incredulously) It isn't? 

Clara. No! Of rowr.?^ it isn't! 

Roddy. (Astounded) Well — what is it, then ? 

Clara. Didn't you hear me when I told you I'd 
thought out just what was the best way for us to 
do? 

Roddy. Why, yes. 

Clara. Well, this is it. (Smiling) Don't look 
quite so puzzled ! 

Roddy. But 

Clara. Why, Hugh, we've just found each other. 
Did you think I'd give you up when I've just found 
you? 

Roddy. (Awkwardly) But — ^you're going — — 

Clara. Yes, but so are you. 

Roddy. Why, no ; I'm staying here. 

Clara. Yes, but not always! You're coming to 
New York some time, aren't you? 

Roddy. (Dazed) Why, I suppose 

Clara. Well? (Meaning "You see what that 
means.") 

Roddy. Oh. 

Clara. (Smiling at his simplicity) You can 
come and see me there, can't you? We can go to 
hear music together, can't we? We can go right 




'Thb Wren" 



See page 108 



THE WREN 105 

on being just what we've started to be to each other 
here ; don't you see ? 

Roddy. Why 

Clara. That's what I meant! (Crosses R.J I 
do wish I hadn't got so upset last night, because I'll 
have a fearful day with him ; and besides it'll make 
it a little difficult about your coming to the house 
when he's there, but we'll manage. 

(Seeby enters from l. on veranda to c.e.J 

Seeby. (Smiling apologetically) I'm sorry, but 
I'm afraid Mr. Frazee asked me to say he's waiting. 
I — told Mm to sit still in the Ford ; I'd tell you. 

Clara. (Nonchalantly, crossing l. to RoddyJ 
Oh, yes. Good-bye. (Giving her hand to Roddy.j 
Good-bye 

Roddy. (Huskily) Good-bye. (She goes up. 
As she does so, Seeby goes r. on veranda, out of 
sight,) 

Clara. (At c.e.J Good-bye! (Seeing that 
Seeby is gone, she adds, smilingly in a suppressed, 
hurried voice) For a little while ! I'm sure this is 
the better way, Hugh. It's only au 'voir! (She 
goes off quickly to l. on veranda.) 

Seeby. (Off r. on veranda) All right! (Cheer- 
fully) If it's too warm up there, you can come 
back. (Appears at c.e., pushing the Captain.^ 
There, you're back I 

Captain. (Sore) Yes, when jes' what I wanted 
to see's all ovuh! 

Seeby. Hush! (Comes down.) 

Captain. (Muttering) Missed the hull thing ! 

Roddy. (Slowly inquiring) Eusebia, you told me 
to stay here so that 

Seeby. (Cheerfully sad) Yes. 



io6 THE Vv'REN 

Roddy. (More sharply) I believe you thought 
she was going, all the time. 

Seeby. (Gently) Yes; I was pretty sure she 
would. 

Roddy. Why did you think so? 

Seeby. (Looking at him and wondering if he un- 
derstands hozv much she means) Well, I thought 
her husband — understood her. 

Roddy. (With a rueful laugh) I see. It's ex- 
traordinary, but I really do understand what you 
mean, Eusebia ! (Tiirning, speaks ivith rueful phi- 
losophy) Well, that's the end o' that ! 

Seeb. (Gently thoughtful, c.) I guess it is. 

Roddy. So what next? 

Seeby. What ? 

Roddy. What do I do now? 

Seeby. (As if reminded) Oh, yes — but- 

(Then as if surprised) Why, don't you know, 
yourself ? 

Roddy. No. I don't know anything. 

(Seeby laughs a little, incredulously.) 

Roddy. (Emphasising it) No. What do I do? 
Seeby. Why, now you begin to paint. 

(There is a very short pause here. Mrs. Free- 
hart enters down r. with a small lunch basket. 
They do not notice her.) 

Roddy. Right away? 

Seeby. Why, of course. 

Roddy. All right. (He looks at her, strides to 
door down l. and exits quickly.) 

Mrs. Freeh art. (Coming from down R.j Here's 
his lunch for him. (Seeby takes it, sits c. and opens 
the lid. Mrs. Freehart mildly protests.) Oh, ye'll 



THE WREN 107 

find 1 remembered everythin' right's usual. (Going 

up.) 

Seeby. Yes. 

(Mrs. Freehart moves out of sight on veranda. 
Seeby closes the lid of the basket, and, still sit- 
ting, looks at it thoughtfully. Roddy enters 
briskly down l. He has a neiv blank canvas, 
and his painting traps slung over his shoulder. 
He gets his cap quickly from the top of the 
piano and comes and stands near her.) 

Roddy. (Briskly) Well? Shall I work all day? 

Seeby. (Still sitting, thoughtful) Well, I think 
I would. 

Roddy. All right. (Starts to go out c.E.j 

Seeby. (Not getting up) Here's your lunch. 

Roddy. (Coming back) Oh, thank you. (She 
hands it to him without looking at him, looking 
front. He looks at her, sighing deeply.) Eusebia — 

Seeby. Yes ? 

Roddy. (Huskily) Eusebia — ^would you go with 
me, just to-day? 

Seeby. (Incredulously) Go with you ? (Rises.) 

Roddy. Just to-day? 

Seeby. Go with you — when I've just been telling 
you to work alone ? 

Roddy. (Almost desperately) Yes. I hate my- 
self so If you'd come along Wouldn't 

you? Just this once? 

Seeby. Oh, no! (As if the idea were almost 
alarming.) 

Roddy. Then it's true; you don't have any in- 
terest in me except I'm something to be made to do 
what it ought to? 

Seeby. (Breathlessly, gently) Why, yes — that's 
the way — I am. 



io8 THE WREN 

Roddy. You wouldn't (Asking her again to 

come. Seeby shakes her head. Roddy accepts the 
answer philosophically and. obediently.) All right. 
(Turns decisively and goes up; does not look back. 
Speaks huskily to Captain in passing imthout stop- 
ping.) Good-day, Cap'n. 

(Captain nods. Roddy swings his cap up to his 
head and strides off l. on veranda. Seeby stands 
c, looking after him, her hands to her cheek 
and throat, Francis enters down r.^ 

Francis. I want t' ask ye! Do you want the — 
(He stops, puzzled, looking at her. He begins 
again) D'you 

Mrs. Freehart. (Looks in from veranda; whis- 
pers sharply) Hush up! 

(Seeby, unconscious of them, stares front; tears are 
near her eyes.) 

Captain. (Looking off l. to back, speaks slowly) 
Mr. Roddy goin' off by himself to-day. He looks 
kind o' lonely. 

Seeby. Oh! (This is just an impulsive mono- 
syllable of greatest pity and tenderness. She turns 
and almost runs out c.e. and off l., following 
Roddy.) 

Francis. Why, what 

(Mrs. Freehart comes in.) 

Mrs. Freehart. (In a hushed voice) You can 
look an' see, can't ye ? (He goes up a little way to 
R. of C.E., near Mrs. Freehart. Both looking off.) 

Captain. (In a softened voice) Seeby 's caught 
up to him. Mr. Roddy, he looks like he don't know 



THE WREN IG9 

which way to go. (He puts the binoculars to his 
eyes.) 

Francis. Look ! 

Mrs. Freehart. Why, she's took his hand. 

Captain. (Looking through the glasses) Yes. 
suh ; she's a leadin' of him. (He puts down the 
binoculars, wipes his eyes, looks down stage, as if 
toward the others, and repeats in a gently tremulous 
voice) Yes, suh. she's a-leadin' of him — she's a- 
leadin' of him — by the hand. 

CURTAIN 



DOROTHY'S NEIGHBORS. 

A brand new comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "The 
New Co-Ed," "Tempest and Sunshine," and many other successful 
plays. 4 males, 7 females. The scenes are extremely easy to 
arrange; two plain interiors and one exterior, a garden, or, if neces- 
sary, the two interiors will answer. Costumes modern. Plays 25^ 
hours. 

The story is about vocational training, a subject now widely dis- 
cussed; also, the distribution of large wealth. 

Back of the comedy situation and snappy dialogue there is good 
logic and a sound moral in this pretty play, which is worthy the 
attention of the experienced amateur. It is a clean, wholesome play, 
particularly suited to high school production. Price, 30 Cents. 



MISS SOMEBODY ELSE. 

A modern play in four acts by Marion Short, author of "The 
Touchdown," etc. 6 males, 10 females. Two interior scenes. Cos- 
tumes modern. Plays 2j4 hours. 

This delightful .comedy has gripping dramatic moments, unusual 
character types, a striking and original plot and is essentially modern 
in theme and treatment. The story concerns the advetures of Con- 
stance Darcy, a multi-millionaire's young daughter. Constance em- 
barks on a trip to find a young man who had been in her father's 
employ and had stolen a large sum of money. She almost succeeds, 
when suddenly all traces of the you.ig man are lost. At this point 
she meets some old friends who are living in almost want and, in 
order to assist them through motives benevolent, she determines to 
sink her own aristocratic personality in that of a refined but humble 
little Irish waitress with the family that are in ^vixnt. She not only 
carries her scheme to success in assisting the family, hut finds 
romance and much tense and lively adventure during the period of 
her incognito, aside from capturing the young man wlio had defrauded 
her father. The story is full of bright comedy lines and dramatic 
situations and is highly recommended for amateur production. This 
is one of the best comedies we have ever offered with a large num- 
ber of female charactiers. The dialogue is bright and the play is full 
of action from start to finish; not a dull moment in it. This is a 
great comedy for high schools and colleges, and the wholesome story 
will please the parents and teachers. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, 30 Cents, 



PURPLE AND FINE LINEN. 

An exceptionally pretty comedy of Puritan New England, in three 
acts, by Amita B. Fairgrieve and Helena Miller. 9 male, 5 female 
characters. 

This is the Lend A Hand Smith College yrize play. It is an ad- 
mirable play for amateurs, is rich in character portrayal of varied 
types and is not too difficult while thoroughly pleasing. 

Price, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 23-30 West 38t!i Street, New York City 

Nwr aid Explicit OiscrJptive GaUiiogue JHIailsd Free en Request 



BILLETED. * 

A comedy in 3 acts, by F. Tennison Jesse and H. Harwood. 4 
males. S females. One easy interior scene. A charming cornedy, 
constructed -with uocommon skill, and abounds with clever lines. 
Margaret Anglin's big' success. Aina*eurs will find this comedy easy 
to produce and poptiiar with all audiences. Price, 60 Cents. 

NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. 

A comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 6 females. 
Costumes, modem. Two interior scenes. Plays 2^ hours. 

Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — ever, for twenty-four hours? 
It is — at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing But the Truth," 
accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his_ business partners, 
and the trouble he got into — with his partners, his friends, and his 
fiancee — this is the subject of William Collier's tremendous comedy 
hit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended 
as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that this 
country can boast. Price, 60 Cents, 



fk WALKED JIMMY. 



A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z._ Jaffa. 10 males, 2 females (al- 
though any number of males and females may be used as clerks, 
etc.). Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 25^2 hours. 
The thing into which Jimmy walked was a broken-down shoe factory, 
-when the clerks had all been fired, and when the proprietor was in 
serious contemplation of suicide. 

Jimmy, nothing else but plain Jimm3'. would have been a mysterious 
figure- had it not been for his matter-of-fact manner, his smile and 
his evf Hasting humanness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won 
the heart of the girl clerk, saved her erring brother from jail, escaped 
that place as a permanent boarding house himself, and foiled the 
villain. 

Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just 
a dash of excitement and more than a little bit of true philosophy 
make "In Walked Jimmy" one rf the most delightful of plays. 
Jimmy is full of the religion of life, the religion of happiness and 
the religion of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with 
his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of optimism, good 
cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. There is not a dull 
moment in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, 60 Cents. 



MARTHA BY-THE~DAY. 

An optimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, avithor 
of the "Martha" stories. 5 males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. 
Costumes modern. Plays 2Vi hours. 

It i.s altogether a gentle th:i;g, this play. It is full of quaint hu- 
mor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see 
the play will recall and chuckle over to-morrow and the next day. 

Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for 
stage service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the most 
telling incidents, infectious comedy and homely sentiment for the 
play, and the result is thoroughly delightful. Price, 60 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 We» t 38th Street. New York City 

Ntw and Eiqiricit Deseriptive Cat«>Sogue Mailed Fres on Rsqueit 



V 1 na 



The Touch-Down 

A comedy in four acts, by Marion Short. • S males, 6 females, but 
any number of cbat'acters can be introduced in the ensembles. Coar 
tumea modern. One interior scene throuclioat the »Ur> Time. 2}<i 
hours. 

This play, written for the use of clever anntetirs, is the story of 
life io Siddcll, a Pennsylvania co-educational college. It deals with 
the vicissitudes and final triumph of the Siddetl Football Eleven, and 
the humorous and dramatic incidents connected therewith. 

"The Touch-Down" has the true varsity atmosphere, cnUegc songs 
are sung, and the piece is lively and entertaining throughout. High 
schools will make no mistake in producir.g this play. We strongly 
recommend it as a high-class and well-written comedy. 

Price. M CenU, 

Hurry, Hurry, Hurry 

A comedy in three acts, by LeRoy Arnold. 5 males, 4 females. 
One interior scene. Costumes modern. Flays 2% hours. 

The story is based on the will of an eccentric aunt. It stipulates 
that her pretty niece must be affianced before she is twenty-one. an<l 
married to her fiance within a year, if she is to get her spinster 
relative's million. Father has nice notions of honor and fails to lel(. 
daughter about the will, so that she may make her choice untram- 
meled by any other consideration than that of true love. The action 
ail takes place in the evening the midnight of which will sec her 
reach twenty-one. Time is therefore short, and it is hurry, hurry, 
hurry, if she is to become engaged and thus ^ave her father from 
impending bankruptcy. 

The situations are intrinsically funny and the dialogue is sprightly. 
The characters are natural and una<?ccted and the action moves witb 
I snap such as should be expected from its title. Price, ^0 Cents, 

The Varsity Coach 

A three-act play of college life, by Marion Short, specialty adapted 
to performance py amateurs or high school students. S males 6 
females, but any number of boys and girls may be introduced in the 
action of the play. Two settings necessary, a college boy's room and 
the university campu*. Time, about 2 hours. . 

Like many another college boy, "Bob" SeJby, an alt-round popular 
college man, becomes possessed of the idea that athletic prowess is 
more to be desired than scholarship. He is surprised in the midst of 
a "spread" in his room in Regatta week by a visit from his aunt 
who is putting hin tjirough college. Aunt Serena, "a lady of the old 
school and the deu-eat little woman in the whole world," bm hastened 
to make this visit t» ber adored nephew under the mistaken impression 
that he is abont to reo(ive the Fellowes prize for scholarship. Her 
KTief and chagrin' «lic« she learns that msti^d of the prise Robert 
9»as received "9^ pitl; faM°d," which is equivalent to suspension for poor 
sohelarship, gives a tooch of' pathos to an otherwise jolly cottiedy of 
eoillege life. Hotr (^ roneQttHit Robert more than redeems himself, 
oarrien off honor* at tite Ust. ant in the end wins Ruth, the faithful 
iittie sweetheart of the "Prom" and the classroom, makes a story of 
dramatic interest md bri«gs o«t Very olcort/ oertaiM phases of moderai 
Qidle«e life. There are »ever*l of^oftMaities for the introduction «€ 
«o0«cc oMiga wd "atoat4.** Frioe. 30 Cents. 

(Ttie Above Are $ubj«et to Royalty When Produoed) 
SAMUEL FRENCH. 38-M West Mth Stroct. New Yoflc CUy 

Imr ni bplieil Biterl^in Gttatogm MalM fm m i«|»Ml 



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William GiHette 

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Louis N. Parker 

R. C. C^artoh 

Alfred Sutro 

Richard Harding Davis 

Sir Arthur W. Pinero 

AEithpny Hope 

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Hidden Chambers 

Jerome K; Jerome 

Cosmo Gordon Lennox 

H. V. Esmond 

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